It is a week shy of April and I have arrived back to this quaint little suburban town that feels far more country than I ever realized. This evening, you will find me sitting in my once usual spot at the kitchen table, eyes occasionally wandering out the bay window, mind fixated on anything other than the present. When are the leaves going to come out? Where are the flower buds, and palettes of color? Why am I missing the cherry blossoms?

My toilet seat is cold. My cereal spoon is the wrong shape, and my soy milk tastes funny. My thumbs are bored at night, and there are no more rivers or 711s to walk to. This may take some time.


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