Different

Something chafes, and you end the sprouting tendrils before they attach properly. Once the words are spoken, you don’t look back for a second. New York swelters like an august afternoon, but we turn the clocks back, the streets dark in the afternoon and littered with leaves while you walk bare legged home down sixth street. 

You could feel weighed down by what might be seen as a failure, you could suffer under the pressure of your own ruminations. But they are no longer there. 

The dark is here, but all you feel is free.