Signed

A ferocious cold front sweeps across the island and rattles leaves still green on their boughs. We spent a day retracing steps from years ago, when he was half as tall but just as thoughtful; it feels like a lifetime ago and you're not quite sure who you were then. You were happy, but what else? You tried then, too, but your throat was not lined up with the guillotine yet, and perhaps that's the trick.

I came home late, tired and restless, and began tearing at open drawers (I'm not sure if I mean literally), until it was 2 a.m. and music had beaten a smile into my step, my closet rearranged into its winter shroud. The window keeps shimmying down and letting floods of ice age air wash out my bed,  but the radiator hisses now and again, and this vodka keeps me warm, and I think I think I think I see light around the edges and I'll piece them together, I think I think I think I'll figure it out I'm not ready to lose just yet, I'm not ready to lose at all, I think this time I want the prize for myself and maybe I'll just fight till it's mine.