and a Clock Still Strikes

Some days aren't yours at all. 

I race downtown in the freezing afternoon, sunlight like a long-lost relative I didn't remember I missed. My skin freezes but my chest radiates, New York was always a city on the move, the still midtown days erase this knowledge from my blood. Perpetually late, I hop on a bike in Chelsea and speed east, to the comforts of familiar corners. There is much left to do, of course, always so much left to do, how do I never catch up to the Red Queen, only see her coattails disappear around the bends. 

Anyway, all I wanted to say was I haven't forgotten the promises I made you. I haven't lost the shooting stars you gave me or the trail of pennies you left to light my path. I know some days it seems like I've been devoured by the grid again, that all my days are naught but to-lists, but you forget.

The Universe can fit in a single silent moment,
a lifetime of a cosmos in a single breath.