Another walk up Broadway, stretching legs and lungs and trying to settle the myriad of ants in my system. Nearly a year I’ve been making this trek, grounded by Manhattan in my spine. Everything inside my skin is trying to get out, trying to escape, how many years have a free rather than fought, this is not the hero’s journey we’ve find to aspire to. Everything interesting grows out of failure, he says, but you wish it didn’t mean you were so long relegated to six feet under.
The sun returns, the snow melts, spring may lie around the bend. You know the grass isn’t greener up close, but oh, how tempting it looks compared to the mud at your feet.
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