fortissimo

It's raining. Oddly enough, I woke up this morning, and I didn't even notice until I read Violet's journal entry about it raining all day yesterday wherever she is. And then I heard it, and I went to the window, and there is the rain, and the angry gray clouds, and the rain-fog on the window.

And then I remembered this, which I wrote ages and ages ago. Officially, it sucks, but I'm going to let you pretend differently today. One of these days I'll post some of my writing that I actually *like* here.

Eye of a Storm

Puddles of silence stagnate between the wrinkles
of sheets which reek of the sweat of sitting
too long among them. Too long alone and placid,
my cheek frozen against the pane, numb
and senseless. My mind charts thoughtless patterns
of breaths like breezes, of a cautious wind
that rustles in noisy trees. Flat clouds
on the window--the haze of my breath condenses
like a shadow of rain. My gaze is indefinite
and intently spacious; an uneasy emptiness--

I am the eye of a storm of absence, a moment
of calm, peace, with a warning of wildness.
I am a space between rages, and I miss you.

-ff