It came this morning when I was getting to the office. It was cold, and early (7:30 a.m.). The streets were empty of people and almost of cars. In the car, Jarl and I had been listening to Griffin House ("if you want to be loved you've got to be the one taking the risk"; "sitting on the rooftop looking at the city lights"). We saw them play at Lincoln Park Zoo in August. Minutes before we had taken Georgie to the school bus (so early for our bundle of joy).
The pain came slowly, as I left the car and walked up the street. It lingered for a minute or so in my eyes, then my lips. Chicago I spelled in silence. I stood there for a nano-second breathing the winter air (there's plenty of it in Chicago too) and longed for the summer, for the trees, for our friends (they called this Sunday), and didn't want to go inside. I wished I had my sandals to take me across the ocean and back in time, to smell the summer of my beautiful Chicago. A walk down North Greenview among the familiar, unfamiliar sights. Becoming my skin, although so foreign still.
I spelled the letters and they lingered on my lips the time of a sigh. And then I stepped inside the office door and turned my computer on and Chicago was gone.
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