Re:Set

But what has happened to your manic ramblings? What has happened to the lyrical dances that rushed through your head unasked and painted the inside of your eyelids in scintillating stories, coloring the world in words? How are the days passing you by in silence? 

A year comes to an end. 12 months ago, you shed the cloak of the straight and wide (again, again, you shed it a hundred times over but keep buying it again on layaway, paying for it with your freedom and praying this time it'll keep out the cold when it never did before), how new and possible it all felt then and now you can barely remember any other life than this.

Fall lands slowly on the steaming streets, leaves rustle into yellow and darkness moves in when you look away, it's so easy to sit blissful in a Brooklyn Heights bay window and I'm not sure why I wouldn't. You tell people you're a writer and gauge their reactions. You'd rather keep this secret to yourself: it is your treasure, not their object to inspect, turning it over in their hands and considering its worth. A year ago you walked out of a Manhattan office building in your business casual attire, nestled into a messy, dusty, fantastical tenement nook and did not look back.

Some days you may doubt, you may let the fear creep into your heart and silence your trembling voice, but no matter.

Wherever you go,
You always come home again.