Not drowning

I have walked around the park 100 times and I know each feather of the four ducklings that survived that bad start to spring. Each morning I take five big swallows of bad coffee to remind myself I am awake. You are familiar like a bad dream and like a hug; it is possible to love and hate in alternating strides. 

London has abandonment issues. How do you know the right moment to leave a sinking ship? For example, have you cheated your way onto a lifeboat by stealing a baby, or

Are you filling your cold blood with alcohol, clinging to an alternate outcome? 

Staying to the end means being there for the miracle. I am waving to my fellow survivors, not drowning.

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