Rows of trees have grown where I once only saw square houses lined up among dusty roads. The snow doesn’t fall so lightly with the rain scratching the mud and the spring leaves struggling to grow. I’m watching the birds pickup sticks and build new summer homes. Resilient, they build after the harsh winter season,…
There’s an orange glow of light on the ceiling coming from the lower east side of Syracuse below me. How fitting. It streaks across my black walls and plaster and pollutes the winter fog outside. How fitting. And as if upon a castle that’s more fit for orange jumpsuits I give this place less…
I’ve become too acquainted with I miss you. I’ve become far too familiar with goodbye. I’ve replaced see you tomorrow with it was nice catching up. I’ve been trying not to lose sight of why.