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Eventually, slowly, the ground thaws, the days grow milder. Suddenly the air doesn't hurt so much in your lungs, but you've been tricked before and everyone walks a careful step, no one dares to presume. Still, the evenings are light outside the office window, the birds are ignorant to the temperatures. A boy sat next to me on the bus and smelled of earth; I wondered what he did for a living.

The silences carve my insides with vicious blades; they leave me speechless. But little by little (eventually, slowly), the scars thicken my skin, distance makes the heart beat to its own rhythm, the voice by the piano grows louder again, unapologetic. The sprouts on the windowsill stretch their newfound lives toward the light. It's just us now.

We made it out alive.