Weathers

It is much too late and much too close to the ringing of the alarm, but I cannot sleep. A heavy fog lay at the edges of the city today, damp, wet, ambiguous with its intentions. Still I walked to the subway as the sun began to lift itself this morning, and it spread a soft golden light on the water tanks of the city in that way that makes everything magical. I worked a long shift and smiled the entire time. Rehashing on the subway how many steps I've taken in other people's shoes, because it is easier to reap their rewards--or wallow in their miseries--than be true to oneself. Scribbling notes: The trick must be to live one's own life but how is that done? After 31 years not even that much figured out.

Time, it turns out, doesn't guarantee you anything.

The answers disappear in the mist.