Life Is So Wonderful I Could Just Curl Up In A Ball And Never Stop Crying.

I'm just standing there for a moment and appreciating it. The night air is clear, it's none of your business in the morning, and I'm about twenty minutes from anywhere. I'm looking over at the river and the moon and I feel a tingle like a breeze, but everything is still.

Maybe it's the continued novelty of late night sobriety, four weeks into the rest of my life. The expanse of clear moments and tiny sharp details previously overlooked, like a camera brought up from storage and finally adjusted into focus. Maybe it's the trouble sleeping and inhaling so much coffee it feels like my teeth are picking up radio signals. In my mind I'm suddenly hearing an acoustic guitar, I'm still feeling a breeze that isn't there.

Everything is still, but it's more than just the lack of movement. Everything is still, as in it's 'still' there, it doesn't vanish when I close my eyes. Everything is still, as in it's always been there and I've always been here. Everything is right where it's was always supposed to be; the moon, the river, the city, me standing on a bridge looking over all of it and suddenly not feeling quite so out of place.

I feel purposeful and, suddenly, a bit ridiculous. As if by the tension of a clock spring, I am suddenly drawn further along the path I have always been traveling.