Tumble

The days catch up with you, as they are bound to. There's a cold in your lungs, a twitch in your eye, a doubt in your veins. You trudge through work, thumb through your plane tickets, self-soothe with ideas of new futures, bright unseen highways across the country discovering a vista where you did not know it would appear. 

For better or for worse looks different when you never really had the better. The road looks sweeter when you thought you might resign yourself to get on without its freedom. 

The nights are longer, when your hours are only your own. 

I mean that
as a good thing. 

May is coming.