Slowly

A distinct waft of lemonade sidles its way through the crack in my bedroom window, pauses just above a half open copy of Catcher in the Rye, and drifts on. I open one eye and observe the clothes I've been meaning to hang in my closet for the past week and a half.
Needs sugar.

Tripping over a Chumash and pulling a robe around my shoulders, I watch the digits of my bedside clock click to 5:30. Classic. May settles onto my calendar and I wave to the man jogging down 86th street. The ducks are back.

My mind drifts to a year ago. My mind drifts to a small room on the lower east side with unswept corners and bright red sheets. My mind drifts to the bouncer on Rivington who used to kiss my cheek and rub lipstick off his. My mind drifts to the graduation I decided to skip and to getting hit by a bicycle. My mind drifts to flying and falling.

I toss back a shot of mouthwash and wince as it burns my tongue. The face in the mirror doesn't look any older. And still.

It happened last night - the realization that I didn't need to assert my independence anymore. Now, I am looking to trust.

I throw on my jacket and grab my keys. The air is fresh and I look toward where the ducks go. A taxi whizzes west and I'm reminded that it's Tuesday. They'll have to wait.