in the Sky

The day after is always cruel in its indifference. The last of the alcohol seeps out and leaves only gutter leaves, only muck and confusion. I ran along the river and tried to sweat it out, but one last heavy weight lingered on my brow. I went to Brooklyn, ostensibly to get work done but wanting really only to sit in a window and look at the city, let it heal me. A small dog curled up in the curve of my arm. I thought alright then, and it was. A small girl waits patiently at the end of the cursor, asks nothing of me that I do not give willingly.

The truth is I want to give her the world.

I don't know why I don't.