Sunday
The streets before sunrise.
The first memory. The daybreak.
That place where runners
make paths into spring
and the park is eternally true.
The glint of the buildings.
The fog of our past lives.
The first yes. The last no.
The cabs flooding highways
with people again.
The clear sky. The Hudson.
The gold light of Sunday.
All this time I thought I knew.
All this time I thought we would change.
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I think of home.
My heart 💔