Thaw

I left their apartment later than I had planned, isn't that always the way with red wine and lingering conversation, and when I stepped onto 48th street, the evening was still mild. Remnants of dinner lay strewn over a sidewalk cafe table, and the smell of cigarette smoke mingled with that certain scent concrete has in spring. 

Spring. 

Like in a moment, everything was different. Like overnight, your heart leaps a hundred pirouettes in your chest and erases any memory of the dark winter that came before. Union square looks like another world entirely and you buy dollar daffodils for everyone you know. 

On paper everything still reads the same. But all you want to do is tear up the paper in a million pieces, throw it in the air like confetti, and laugh.