When you rise to another day of sunshine, your lungs begin to believe it. The weight around your temples announce themselves only throught their absence. You bring your running shoes to Chelsea, bring your hope to the 28th floor of a skyscraper, still spent too many hours wide awake in the middle of the night, questioning everything, but come morning you sleep a deep sleep, wrapped in if not answers, then at least sentences that in periods.
Come daylight, you sit alone in the glassed-in space, unable to stop yourself from singing into the Hudson River views. There is work to be done, surely there is work to be done, but you survived January, and that requires its own joyful mayhem and you have no intention of ignoring it. The riverfront promenade calls to you like reminders of a time before the Great Fall and you thought you'd never be rid of that plague on your heart but you do feel different now, you do feel almost like the person you were in the before times, just a little more tired, a little more worse for the wear.
You survived January.
Maybe now, soon,
You may live.
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