The Clouds Are Omninous

Threatening, dark and looming. [I don't have an umbrella; not sure if I own one right now.] But I am not really worried about whether those dark clouds are headed my way or have already passed through here.

I love the wind. I don't care what it's carrying. Wind makes me believe in renewal or just new, not what was here before. Bring it on, anything new. Anything but this vague melancholy that is not attached to any particular situation or memory.

It is just that persistent desire to cry -- to let loose, to cleanse, to rid myself of whatever is going on inside me right now. It is a craving for sad songs and movies and stories.

But as I read those sad stories, I don't cry. The tears well but they don't fall. They just cloud my vision.

A deep sadness, a hole in my heart opens, I wonder: Why did I read that?

The sadness burns like pain and a profound sense of helplessness and hopelessness invades my soul.

How will I find the will to keep looking life in the face?

These things happen, there are bad people and bad thing and life like a train bearing down on you has no ability to break. Barely slows as it tramples your now lifeless body.

Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, face the next day.

You chose to read those stories. You wanted more, you couldn't turn your head or even avert your eyes.

I am afraid it will harden me, but maybe that is just wishful thinking.

[The food is helping me catch up with the two vodka drinks I had at the gallery reception. The soft haze at the corners of my eyes has worn off and my legs are no longer wobbly.]

The rain started. I guess the clouds were headed my way. No worries, I don't melt, even when I want to.