You wake early, the streets black and slick with last night's rain. Everything is quiet, like no one really is sure what time it is. The radiator has lost its mind and pumps out steam enough to heat a small village, you swelter and open a window. Rise and Shine. You run to the trains hoping the weather hasn't derailed the time tables but knowing better; by the time you unearth in Brooklyn the mist has turned to hail, and when the sun finally rises, it is hidden behind a blanket of big, heavy snowflakes.
I wake every morning from strange dreams, wandering through dilapidated houses and wondering at the whims of the Universe. I think I was lost for a while, you know, and I'm sorry if I dragged you with me in the muck, but I am ready to step out now. Rain turns to hail turns to snow on our eyelashes, what can we do but roll with the punches? There is work to be done, books to be written, we have destinies to fulfill. Meet me on the shore whenever you're ready.
We can look at the map together.
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