It’s the morning and I can see the smoke rising from the buildings outside my window, and the world is all of a sudden brand new again. It’s another tomorrow, continuing from another yesterday, and somehow an entire year has shifted. I have old thoughts today, old and weird and sad but I stick with them as I sip my coffee in the kitchen because old and sad is the stuff of legend and I don’t think people give it the credit it’s due. It’s hot in here, and I open the doors and listen to the sounds of a rarely quiet street. There has been an end here today, a small but formidable shattering of things I thought were solid and true and warm. Maybe I don’t want to be warm. Maybe I like the idea of warm, and find it’s actual existence suffocating. I think about snakes, and how they crawl out of themselves every so often. I think about this thing I heard about how you’re an entirely new cluster of cells every seven years. I wonder to myself, flipping through old notebooks, how we become, and how we were, and how we should be. But this seems like too much of a question for a day like today, so instead, I just pay attention and hope for new skin.