Go outside. Right now.
It’s dark. It’s cool. It’s breezy. Grass has replaced the snow. Walking downtown, the smell of shawarma from every Lebanese restaurant, the people shedding their coats, the surfacing skin, it’s as if the world is blooming while the sun has set.
All I want is for you to be here with me. To share this moment with you.
It’s a pity to be alone on nights like this.
Spring is when you wake up, and you’re sick and you’re groggy and your hair refuses to co-operate, and your iPod ran out of batteries, and you’re late for work but you take your time walking anyway because the sun’s in your face and the wind’s at your back and for some reason you know that everything’s going to be alright.
The city begins to melt as the sun warms soil and pavement alike. Trickles of water run everywhere while the ice dissolves, a prescient sign of the streams soon to be come from lawn sprinklers and car wash hoses, as excess finds its way to sewer grates. By night, the temperature drops below freezing again and the small urban currents turn solid. Pedestrians practice their waddles in the morning as they maneuver across the slippery patches. The only remains of ice are the paths left compressed by the trampling of feet through the winter.
Every day I wake up it’s a little brighter, in my room, and in my mind.
I like to sleep with my window open slightly when the weather goes above 1°C.