Everything tastes better in spring, the air, the sleep, the music pounding its way into your stirring cells. The way he says your name, unassuming, like we didn't just make it through 14 months of ice floes. You try to explain what lilacs mean to someone from the north, the last day of school and three months of unending daylight ahead, that melancholy that grips you on early morning walks home from late night parties and everything rests but nothing sleeps. If you've never known the absolute death of a long winter, how can you know the exquisite torture of spring, but are we not all coming out of the same darkness? The governor says rates are plummeting, says we are on track to reopen, says you're doing great. You see the seats along the bar and think you have never loved anything more than this city, how could anyone ever compete. I wake to birdsong, now, did you hear? I am fearless and invincible, I only forgot for a moment. Crumpled post-its on my pristine walls say at the top of the list there's you, and there's a check mark next to it, can you imagine having your dreams come true?
It seems impossible
only
until it doesn't.
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