Monday, July 25, 2022

Gate B68

At some point in the late morning, the system clicks into place. Old neural pathways spring to life, like there was just dust on the wires and it’s coming off. In a trance I finish work, undaunted by the unpleasant emails. I set up the OOO while I water the plants, clean out the fridge and weigh the suitcase. Rush to Penn station in a thunderstorm, could walk the steps to the terminal with your eyes closed, arrive much to early, recognize the skyline view from the window. 

How many years of coming and going, each time grateful that Most goodbyes are not forever. A strange few years lie behind us. We are not out of these woods yet. 

But oh, how sweet just the light where the forest parts. 

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