It's the last frigid Saturday of winter, you determine. This will be the last of it. You shiver a few blocks east, pacing again around a hardwood floor that you have decided will be yours. I haven't told you yet but I'm gonna be with you. Maybe this is what I was talking about. It's possible I got my loves mixed up. The Universe makes sure to put me where I need to be, even when I attempt winding roads to get there.
Later, at a hospital in the Bronx, I walk through the second door to a new world, or an old one perhaps, even if it's a little rough around the edges now. A year we've lost to insanity and I do not recognize us anymore. There is no going back to who we were before. There is no reaching back into the innocent past. There is only dusting off these ashes and building something new.
Spring arrives, health arrives, the wisdom that only comes with walking through fire is weaving its tale around our poor, huddled masses. We are coming out the other side.
Rough around the edges, yes.
But alive.
That win is fragile.
I'm still going to take it.
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