Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Storms, Fairy Tales and Moorings.

We craved a storm so extreme our insides would finally find relative peace. In watching naked destruction fall upon our road, our trees, our power-lines, we hoped we might watch something succumb to the same fate that had been ravaging our hearts (rubbed raw by our ribs with each overpowered beat), our lungs (worn down by whispers and wails) and our brains (overheated and undernourished). Instead we found scattered twigs and torn leaves and took refuge in TV marathons and video games.

In another form, in another situation, I'm sure I have felt the same heaviness, the same scorched chest, the same tendency toward tears and small corners. I have been a girl pouring over lyrics, fairy tales, and old movies, and I recognize my senses now filled with the same uncertainty that was once scrawled on crumpled paper and whispered into starry skies. But it is different to feel this way with you. It is different to feel both so utterly afloat and so completely anchored.

You are the only one who sees what I'm feeling, through the muddy water I hide beneath, and makes me feel it. Though sometimes to stop drowning and start breathing feels like simply drowning in a new way, you are the only one whose arms can make the mess in my head subside for a moment. I have never known laughter like ours. I have known no hands, no arms, no lips, that make me feel as safe. Wild, alive, and safe.

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