Tumble

Can you come pick me up?
I fainted and they won't let me leave on my own.

You race up to midtown, 42nd street like a strange safari on a Sunday afternoon but you revel in the brief burst of light against your temples. She walks out defeated, how our demons sometimes resurface when we least expect it, how cruel the blow to an ego caught unawares. I return to a parking spot down the block, the Universe rewards devotion. 

Upstairs, my apartment remains a disaster, Christmas tinsel still draped around the fireplace and three days of coffee cups strewn about the living room. You think the mess is trying to tell you something but it is too late, you are too tired. Tomorrow is another day. 

You are ready to greet it, now,
glad to see its sunrise on the horizon.