An entire day rushes past, I wipe leaves off the car and bike back across the bridge to whisper my good mornings to the city. It whispers back, gives me a nudge. I wade through the stories of all the years that built me and marvel at the turns our lives can take. It gets cold outside. He writes sweetnesses into the ether, and you do your best to let them run like water droplets off your shoulders. You pack your bags.
The numbers are rising around us, the walls building back up. The powers that be do their best to corrupt the last vestiges of our dignity. I miss you so much it aches in me sometimes, but then everything aches in me so maybe I just can't tell one pain from another. These stories build me, yes, but on shaky foundations and jenga acrobatics. I wake up never quite knowing who I am.
The rain passes. But the woods are getting dark. You better shine your light real bright if you're going to make it.
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