It feels oddly familiar.
A cool breeze on warm skin.
Spring, no matter what the season.
But removed a bit, like rain on the window.
(Which side is the wrong side?)

It feels new somehow, every day.
The same path, but marked with
new growth, fresh blooms.
I am helpless in almost every way.
I would not change any of it.

It feels inevitable.
A gasp unbidden after holding
my breath far too long.