When I fell in love with street names in this corner of the city. When time zipped and chugged around a decaf americano’s solitude. When January’s pavement smelled like spring and the snowdrops thought about waking up. When the ocean beckoned but I was on the wrong side of town. When the mountains screamed with snow and my feet stomped through the absence of puddles.
I was too laden. Too aware of the wrong things. Like dust piles, carpet stains, unwashed laundry. A molehill of midlife. Lacking wine and live music and all the places we should have found on road trips to nowhere.
