The sun is here, feels funny after months and months, buried beneath white and gray. I think, one day I will move away, escape the blasé. I don’t know. The future eludes me. Maybe, the sun’s shine wouldn’t mean so much, if I saw her everyday. I don’t know. Flash floods require mopping, cleanup, restructuring. I don’t know much, I know hope. I pray, I uncover infinite wells of wisdom, reserves of