The rain moves on but the weight lingers. You are as lost as ever, more questions by the minute, unraveling into the April chill. The radiators in your apartment bang on, the heat reviving long after it thought its season would be over.
You say your apartment, but the truth is you have no home of your own.
This is one of the questions that circle your drain and threaten to pull you down with it.
But, you remind yourself, you have come out of ashes before. You have risen from the drag and built worlds around you that swirled itself into curlicues of joy. You have brought into existence experiences that did not exist before you conjured them.
The last few eons have been a setback,
I'll grant you that.
But for all the times you've been lost in the woods,
the woods have never killed you.
There is still a chance that
there are curlicues left to be
lived.
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