Fall

Last weekend of peak foliage, citizens of the city spill into the parks like they’d never seen a leaf before, or like kicking them never gets old (it doesn’t). I walk with my eyes closed straight at the sun, and it’s a sweet gift if you remember to see it. Behind the trees, a city spreads out: a strange, wondrous city you will never know fully and yet vow to never give up attempting to. She sends an itinerary, and you pack your bags before you’ve even unpacked them. A new voice lingers at your fingertips but it’s too soon to trust the whims of the season. He sends you a picture of a home in boxes. Says I’m free, and you know it’s true. The heart in your chest grows and grows, a year ago you wouldn’t even have known it could do that, but here we are.

It’s not up to you to know the way.
It’s only up to you to walk it.