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Sunday, October 21


Sometimes, almost unexpectedly, almost overwhelmingly, the urge fills me to the brim and overflows from my body in the form of salty trails of emotion that rain down my cheeks in embarrassing continuity. The urge to stand up, to stand tall and yell it to the world. Yell it to the world to let them all know. Let them all know that it can happen and it does happen and what should we do? We should fix it.

Or maybe the urge to curl up a little bit and whisper it. Whisper it into a speaker, connected to a satellite, connected to you. Whisper it to the speaker to let you know. Let you know that it happened, it did happen, and now what? Now what should I do?

But mostly. But mostly the urge to squeeze my eyes real tight, press my hands to the sides of my head until I can forget. I can stop thinking, stop my ragged breathing, and go to sleep.

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