Coming Storms
she is a woman of a mighty rage finding identity in the noise of atmospheric violence. she was once small, but never tiny, spending years looking for answers written in the valleys of her blue-green eyes. she's grown, lost contact with the reflection. the map her feet have etched into a memory that can choose to forget, choose to rewrite, choose the pain of the truth.
tomorrow's only guaranteed if you can get out of bed. and sometimes that isn't possible.
but the view of the rumbling storm from this table facing the window facing the street facing the sky will be worth it...
because two women arm-in-arm just passed...
because the storm she is craving is the only honest mimic of how she feels. even the smallest glimpse will be a small, certain relief. the heat will subside. tomorrow she'll get out of bed and manage at least one smile.
June 9, 2008