Sometimes the Story

Sometimes the story just won’t tell itself.


There are times when I have nothing to say, but this isn’t one of them.


I know where the story goes from here, but tonight is not the night.


This night is distracted, blocked; a tumultuous time crying out the truth in tears,

howling high over the whorl-winds, this crucial point:

I cannot avoid the storm, because I am the storm.

When it’s over, again, I won’t feel the same, again,

and that’s ok: I’ve been a storm long enough.



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