Whirlwind

Rush out of work on a Friday night, afternoon sun dancing across Manhattan as you scale the bridge, impatience giggling in your limbs. Find a face so familiar it runs in your blood, and instantly any time apart is washed away with the emptied champagne flutes. Spend a weekend running through the city in magic laughter, seeing it again as if through the eyes of one who has loved and left, remembering to appreciate every step, every cobblestone, every unexpected gift the city gives you when you are deserving of it. The weekend is over much too soon, and you spend the last few hours pretending returns will be imminent, because the alternative is heart-wrenching.

Monday morning arrives with rain. Fall runs rampant, the year does not wait for you to catch up.

Lace your sneakers. Run like hell into it.