You sort through the piles of your life, looking for treasures and finding little grains of sand where you'd forgotten they might be. Realizing how much you'd like to shake up the choices you've made and knowing that button is not an option on your console. You are where you are. Dig where you stand. We get one more day of sunshine, you run from smiling face to smiling face, for just one brief moment your life feels like New York of old and you try to remember that person in your lungs, in your veins. How long she's been away. So much of your time now is spent surviving, is spent going to sleep one more time and hoping for the best at dawn but waking before alarms with a boulder on your heart, it is not a life, not really. He sends you songs and softness and you distract yourself off topic until it passes. Your regular bar braces for winter, builds a treehouse on 5th street, you have never loved New York more than you do now, and it's a welcome reminder.
Just because your edges are sharp
doesn't mean you are made of ice.
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