Summer enters your bloodstream against your better judgment, against your best attempts at maintaining decorum. You feel the currents of every water you have ever stepped into stream across your temples, there's a light breeze you've never seen before in June in New York, somehow the world is smiling on you and you've yet to find out why.
A storage unit is rented, a moving company contacted. There's a tingle at the back of your neck each night when you go to bed. Fourteen sleeps till it's here. There's a sweet appreciation in walking around the apartment, breathing in the light, remembering a longing for this space long before it was mine to hold.
Look at road maps across America and feel only freedom, no fear.
Little sprouts of your words begin to stretch and yawn in the depths of your mind, their tendrils trembling toward foot holds previously weighted by the world on your shoulders. She worries that you are throwing your cares to the wind and will blow away, and you do not know how to explain it.
Riding the wind doesn't mean I diseappear into the ether.
It means when I come back, it's because I wanted to.
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