The last week has been drawing near to the shrouded hollow of previous times. It's quite ironic; I had been reflecting upon those months, even years, which is much clearer in retrospect and in comparison the present. The difference, or rather, the lack of what had been before, becomes so organically stark now. Yet quietly and suddenly, a whirlwind was sinking me back, and I found myself floundering and fighting against the current, struggling to understand what was happening. Sour rolling behind my eyes that I could only swallow in acrid burps in silent screams. Huge monsoon waves crashing in ceaseless motion in my chest. An exhaustion the weight of exhumed skeletons and pickled hearts. The hopeless knowledge that it is a battle to be dealt with alone.
The rained seemed to wash away some of the grime during the night. This morning offered no epiphany; no birds awoke chirping outside the winder, no eggs cracked in hatching, no younglings opened their eyes to the world for the first time. But I awoke with a quieter heart.
Taking courage, plodding on...