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.