Before we leave, the bartender leans in close, looks us both intently in the eyes, and whispered, Are you not going to have a shot of tequila before you go? New York winks at you in unexpected moments, a quick nod with a stranger, a dear friend running out of a restaurant to say hello, cherry blossoms refusing to be stopped by your own stubborn heart. Spring arrives, New York arrives, sprouts grow even out of the broken shards. We must believe that we, too, can turn toward the light, that we, too, can be better than we have been made to believe we are.
It is April now. It is April now and the world reappears before you. You made it this far.
Why not just keep going?
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