The blue moon glow hides behind the the clouded ceiling. Most of the street is blinded save for a cone of wet asphalt flickering in and out of the forward leaning streetlight. My window is soaked in condensation and leftover rain drops from the storm only a few hours before. Inside the air runs consistent, but the second floor struggles to find a cool enough temperature. At least the thick muggy air is locked outside. Toads croak in the bushes, sharing little tidbits about where the mosquitoes and lizards are hiding to each other.
My head presses against the glass but only mentally. In actuality I sit with a gaze through more than just the window pane. My thoughts and vision pierce through the soaked pavement and into my own illusionary present future. I see joyfulness far away and contentment in the distance, though the latter is attached to a string that starts inside my chest. I see love tied up on a branch too high for me to reach on my own. Imagined futures flood into my present.
Then I reinterpret the past and come to a new line that's supposed to be rusty. Like misremembering the which subway you took home two nights ago. My conscious lies awake and pushes me to dream through reality. Anything we can conjure up or find to distract us will serve us much better than this alleged patient love, it tries to convince me. You're asleep anyway, what's the use in pushing the dreams away?
Still, I know that love is patient. I won't be swayed so easily. I may fall asleep with my guard down but every morning I wake up with renewed skin. The muscles surrounding my heart grip me tight and loose. My lungs fill with breath and fluid. I'm not drowning but walking toward the sun with shades. I'm a daffodil leaning outward, following the Light. My roots are learning to tangle themselves in the solid ground around me. I'm trying desperately to try. It's interdependence and inward acceptance and motivation. Step by step. Day by day. People don't grow in one day. Stems aren't always green.