Not A Burden But A Dream

We're leaving early

I have this daydream.

Where I’m walking home. It’s close to summer. Or maybe not close, but the first day the idea is taking shape in the weather. When looking ahead at the forecast you see the rest of the week is following this lead. I’m with someone who has gone to a bar with me to see some friends and now we have left to go back home together. On the outskirts of the meatpacking district where the streets on occasion come together with cobblestone, not a single car is before or behind us. He is looking to the left where the restaurants are brimming with life. The sound of plates scraped with silverware from people who have been dying to get out. Their conversations spilling in front of us like a flood. We’ve needed it though, like the air itself has been dry too long. And there is no longer the dire need to enjoy every last moment in the sun in case it gets cold again because we trust it won’t be cold again, not for a long time, not until we have missed it so much that it arrives like relief.