Too far from the path you’d finally found, spend your days weeding through thickets. The sky is gray above the Manhattan Bridge as you make your way out into the world. So familiar with this aversion to the light, with the layers folding in on themselves. You don’t know how to turn it around on your own, can’t get the wheels spinning in the right direction. You know there was joy here somewhere, a bearable lightness, you know now how it feels underneath your skin and it’s too hard to navigate a world without it.
It’s been too many days with
to now suddenly be without.
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