Half Birthdays

Union Square was still at the tail end of rush hour when we navigated the creaking elevators with our excursion packing. When we crossed the bridge and all Manhattan dazzled below us she squealed; I could only echo the sentiment.

Beyond the cacophony of Flatbush Avenue, the garden lay peaceful and smiling, a handful of revelers strewn across the winding paths and thawing lawns. She ran around laughing, looking for the birds who couldn't help but go crazy in still barren trees, while I kept my eyes glued to the ground, eagerly searching for signs of life.

And suddenly, they were everywhere. Little green shoots, barely visible under the cover of fall's long dead leaves, gave way to entire swaths of flowers: violet crocus, bright yellow aconite, and fearless white snowdrops appeared at every turn, each time as much a delight as were they the only flower you had ever seen. The further into the woods we got, the warmer the sun, the stronger the feeling in my chest that the cold grip of the Darkness is loosening around my spine. While she slept, tucked into a warm blanket and a smile on her face, I ran my fingers along fuzzy magnolia buds and pussy willows. Soon, soon, I whispered to them, or perhaps it was them whispering to me, all I know is my skin tingled. I came home later, the sun setting eventually, as it still does, but everything looked different: the street, the words of encouragement pinned to my walls like a fortress, they looked like promises. Soon, soon, we whispered to each other, and I knew, then, that I had made it out alive.