You leave Brooklyn in a rush, no room for tears, or maybe you've just done this before, the goodbyes become routine. You drive out of the across the Verrazano-Narrows, watching the skyline disappear in the humid haze, cursing New Jersey drivers like it's a treat. You sit in silence, watching the miles disappear behind you, you think you should be talking yourself into answers but your brain is tired. You're happy enough just watching the rolling hills pass by.
This morning I found two four-leag clovers growing next to each other in the park near the pier. I was only hoping for one, the duo felt like a kind nudge, a little wink. Off you go, you'll be alright.
I'll be back, and all that.
This life was meant for living.
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