Through the Days and

You lose your days and nights into lotus apathy, indifferent to the passing of time and the loss of your dreams. How long can you sit here paying rent without reaping the magic you were promised? There was a time I believed in the lightness of breath, a power in my step, a love in my words. I was so sure of it, and now I begin to question. Sometimes illness drags the life from my eyes, and each time I forget that I have been here before. I convince myself the days have been sunshine and daises up until this point and that now, somehow, I have lost it all. 

But the daffodils are sprouting along the Buttermilk Channel, this afternoon I went for a run along the East River and there's a manuscript on my desk that is getting better, we passed the equinox and you aren't dead yet. Something, something will come of this, your life isn't over yet. You are bleeding, yes, but scars can look like maps when they heal.