You sound good, she says, enjoy it while it lasts. You look at her with question marks for eyes, does she not see how the whole world is painted in a different palette, does she not know everything is different now? She writes you another prescription and you weigh it against the sunlight at your fingertips. Think, we're all just trying to make it through.
A month ago, you could not stand without the greates effort, and here you are, planning adventures in the sky. She says, we know these things come back, and she doesn't have to tell me, doesn't have to explain my own innards to my poorly assemble psyche, who else has lived through these ebbs and flows but me? It doesn't matter.
I walk back out into the street, feel New York pulse underneath me like a perpetual seismic shift, and at last I feel ready again to roll with its moves, at last we are back in step. The trees are green in Madison Square Park, my eyes smile when I see them in the mirror, I have a long way yet to climb out of this ravine, but, oy, at last I see the blue skies I am trying
to reach.
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