You begin a new story.
(You cannot help yourself.)
Untold potential unfolds in front of you, little morsels of hope floating toward the sky like ash and you have to catch them in the precise moment between when they are too hot and when are no more.
Everything that requires catching is too particular about the hows, and you feel your life wither from under you. I go for a long run in the biting wind and watch the sun beam over the East River.
Everything that desires catching will come back for another round,
but
you still have to reach out to take it.
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