March 31, 2021

⌛ 03.30.21

As Guildenstern says: "We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered."

It has been, at once, a terrible and beautiful month. I wonder what it will be like to hold it in memory a year from now, far enough to notice how it falls into place, distant enough to forget the best and worst of it.

Love in public, swimming through crowds, sweaty palms. It's not hope, exactly, but at the very least, it's worth a dream.

—P