A warm winter January 2nd. What to do when the turn of the year doesn’t feel like a turn? New year, old mirror to scrutinize. Unchanged habits.
My heart is bust open and in friction with the world. I run perpendicular to sleet: tiny shards of glass and ice emanate from every building and person in this town. I feel as vulnerable as an open-heart patient lying face up on a table.
New Years was a ship to board, set to sail new waters, uncharted scenes, and I was a lowly servant boy spinning in his duties, too incriminated by what-might-happen-if, to embrace a trip to the Seaport with an extra hat and pair of socks.
So I walked. January 2nd. It took until a dull ache swelled in my feet before I realized the ocean doesn’t stop at the shoreline. I walked city streets until I believed I were 20 feet into the sea. I saw glimpses of acceptance like moving ads on the electronic billboards above.