Delirium

The sun returns for another day, you see the difference in the way the dust dances across your windowsill, feel it in the way your bones stretch in the early morning, there's an angle of the sunlight that has not been here in months. It is coming. I abandoned the pile of work at my desk and take another long run in the afternoon sun. All I can think is I made it. Suddenly, everything becomes clear again: the weeks of ineptitude, the days of doubt, all shape themselves against the outline of the Illness. My body twists itself differently; everything is still pale and wounded, but I know better things are coming. Feel a hunger in my belly that has not been there in weeks. Feel a hope in my heart like a child's. Every morning I wake early now, ripped from dreams and tossed into anxiety, but there's a different waking to a sunlight too bright. I look at apartment listings and care only about how many windows I can count. They ask about square feet and amenities, I tally minutes of light in the apartment. See change on the horizon and try to think of it not in fear, but in possibility. 

The only grace given us in life is our ability to forget our pains. Every year, April comes and wipes this darkness from my brow, it is how I go on.

I suppose there is gratitude to be found anywhere, if you look hard enough.