Wake early again, stretching into jet lag like a familiar friend, one more morning of midtown skyscrapers in your periphery and you have never been mad a day in your life at the bones of this city, no matter how the finished face looks. Your own finished face looks paler than you remember, a few days ago in their tropical back yard, than you remember, a week ago on the savanna. It seems impossible for it to be just a week, you refuse to do the math. One day we left our mothers' embrace for the last time and didn't know.
Spring sits just at the cusp, dangling its legs over the side of a skyscraper, waiting for the time to leap. You watch with bated breath, watch with heart beating out of your chest, there's a brief moment in every ounce of joy ladled with fear, there is in each moment of life and ounce of death, we are not without our contrasts, I did not know love until I knew
the emptiness of being
without.
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