Pike

For an entire day, you write. Stories unfold before you faster than you can jot them down and you rejoice in the vivid imagination of your characters; how they give themselves to you. You put on more coffee, pour another glass of wine, try to keep up. Take breaks to read the words of others and realize how their magic doesn't lessen yours but waters it so it grows. No day was wasted in creativity. I went for a run along the water in the afternoon sun and thought how beautiful the world, when the wind doesn't bite through your skin. Little bulb buds begin to peek out from the cold earth. Soon it will all be over.

There's something about coming out of a depressive relapse that reminds me of those first days after you've gotten over the flu. Suddenly, you feel the wellness of your body, feel each limb stretch in the sunlight and remember gratitude over its normalcy, how clear your head feels, how hopeful life. I reveled in it today as I watched the sun set over the town that I love. My muscles move, my lips smile, my mind tells stories as though it knows it was meant to.

I have never been so well,
nor the world so sweet.