The depths come and go on their own accord, no thought to your availability. A sunny Saturday night drowns itself in thunderstorms, a hesitant Sunday morning jogs slowly along the river, willing the spring blooms to erase the demons from your dark corners. I write to do-lists for the institutionalized: brush teeth, put on clothes, wash the cup in the sink. I look around for padded walls and find none, but perhaps I'm not looking closely enough.
The trees outside my fourth floor window itch with knobby buds, each rain shower coaxes them another step closer to bursting forth, each day we do not die we have the chance to live, do you hear me?
Take each step
until you get there.
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