It's been a bit jarring, this stumble into symmetry, my good senses gluing themselves intact like an eleventh-hour craft project.
No string sections swelling for this comeback kid-- the just desserts, in this case, arrive in the form of a steady hum that breezes the past away with the ease of a loose eyelash flying in a tropical storm.
It took years to embody this equilibrium, to approach the mid-morning sun and not recoil from overexposure, no longer draped in the sweat-soaked robes of secrecy. I have tripped upon a biome of bravery, fallen into the measurements that require no prickly tampering from the rusty, dulled needle of a fraudulent tailor.