pretty good year, cornflake girl

I wonder how old we were when we chose to no longer tilt our heads back to look up at the sky. See past our noses, scaling past our foreheads and scalps. Catch the airplane gliding past the skyscrapers, otherwise unheard over Tori Amos in our ears. Scan the clouds to admire the storybook pinks and blues streaking naked above us. How old were we when we chose to obsess over the hypnotic pavement we chase, grays and gravel? Choosing to keep our heads down instead of holding our chins up. How old will we be when we realize life isn’t passing us by - we’re just blazing through it, eager to reach the finish line we keep moving.

*walking through SoHo vía Little Italy into The Village *

on August 6th, 2022 - but feels like September 2nd; Dan’s birthday.