We have reached that time of year when soonness is in full bloom. The cherry blossoms are on their way, pale pink buds taunting passersby with hundreds of closed fists on barren winter branches. Peeking out my morning window, the weather says it’s shorts season, but a morning stroll tells me much otherwise. A break from routine around the corner, yet one more day of this broken-record-life until we can take an unhurried breath. A promise through the phone from the one you call home: Soon. I will see you soon.
We are beautifully, and tragically, just out of reach.