It's that time of year again. Sunshine so bright that your frozen heart becomes a spring flood and short circuits your nerve endings. I sit in apathy, staring at the dirty windows, staring at the outside world and wondering my place in it. If your silence is deafening, my own is like a black hole. For a moment I thought I saw you smile, but perhaps it was just the sun reflecting in the windows.
This season plays tricks on us.
I always said I didn't understand how she did it that day, on that sunny, mild spring morning, when all of life was just about to return. I always wondered what you thought those last few moments, the whole world at your feet. I always wondered if I would've made it out, if you did.
That summer, a dear friend said Something is different. You look happy.
How many second chances do you think we get?
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