Sunlight beams in through the south facing windows in the little shoebox, impending winter reverses course. I run along the river, believing in another day. He writes, and I wonder what slumbers in me still, how long it will remain in hibernation. Bury myself in work, in the way a to-do list can twist and turn around itself.
Sometimes we are more questions than answers. Keep your nose to the grindstone.
Even babysteps one day lead somewhere.
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