The SAD lamp flickers to light, dusty around the corners. A dreary January rain covers the windows, my limbs compacted into oblivion, the season bowls us over as it likes. I sit in the bright light, a garish caricature of my old self, and let the promise of life wash over me. My parents make good time and pass into the edge of Death Valley by late afternoon. The coast has been evacuated and they drive right into it.
When your house is on fire, you still run in after your kids.
I make a note to rethink what I thought love was
Make a note that the things we tell each other are only stories
until we do them.
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