excuse me sir, you've lost your vegan cheesesteak

i measure time in letters about first loves and red sweaters, the worn-down soap, in messy beginnings of ends. i do not measure time in yarn, seconds or furrowed eyebrows.
have i changed since i graduated from college three years ago? certainly i've had more conversations over vegan cheesesteaks, more fireflies have been caught and let go. but have i changed? have i grown more cautious? three years ago, i hopped in my car and drove across the country to a town of 1200, where the mountains were always within sight and i didn't finger the windowpane, i flew.
these days, i dance. we dance. Pavement plays in the living room and the wind swings my arms back and forth. but i've got to piece my wings back together again. i've got to smash fists through windows and land gracefully in the grass.