Birthday's rattled off in rapid fire succession. Month. Day. Year.
I sip my tea and watch the shadows brighten under the canopy of the live oak and pecan trees,
In a few hours I will run and I will leave all this behind.
Small dosages of serotonin inhibitors will allow my hands to freely dissect the air,
Prying my fingernails lose from hands chopping through the May air,
(something about showers, something about flowers).
A light hearted mumble as I pass processions of cars feasting on the day,
Witnessing blue skies and white swallows of light, lazy...
"It won't kill you, you know?" I practiced my sad little wind sprints and intervals; my times haven't really increased in decades.