Tenebrae

I remember it now as a rush to finish the whole thing, to read all the signs before time ran out. When the dust had settled, all that remained was the knowledge that time would run out no matter what I did, that time had actually already run out and we were only pretending otherwise. If I had known then what I knew after, would I have cut my losses early, before the cherries even bloomed? Would I have spent the spring crying into their petals and healing into their sunshine, instead of willing them to promise a future that had already been extinguished? It is April, now, cruel in its beauty, in its invitations, how many springs will be broken underneath me, will be torn from my longing ache, you know April always made me look at apartment listings and tickets to the ends of the earth but none of that is possible now and I think it's just as well.

I am happy here, now, it's not as innocent, not a blissful joy like it was when I thought I had found the answers and that they lay in the way you mumbled my name into the night, but it is reliable. I can read books without looking for clues, without superstitiously fearing that I'll break the future by stepping on cracks, I know the water's gone under the bridge a thousand times and I haven't drowned. I've learned I can swim.

It's just, I used to think I could fly.