it's almost worse when things seem simple, right? like you're missing something important because it can't really be this easy, this okay, and the sun through the blinds is almost too bright, too much like a promise i don't know if i can keep, a day stretched out ahead with nothing but space in it, and maybe the running, the constant NEED for the next thing, the next problem, the next crisis, was just a way to avoid this, this strange quiet, like something's coming to get me if i stop moving, but it's spring in brooklyn and the air smells like garbage and flowers and something in me unclenches a little.