Tuesday, September 4, 2012

ugly angry

artist unknown

She says the lightening and thunder represent all the division between us. Once the birds have had enough of our chatter they scoop the argument into their beaks, take it to the clouds and let it explode. I think of this when I hear the rumbling and see the night flash light in the north. Was our argument the final straw?

Neither of us go to bed mad, just sad and confused. 

He says our differences move in the air as smoke. It travels to our ceilings, permeates our walls. Sometimes it fills our rooms so thick we can't see two inches before us. Our only hope is to reach a window or a door but people can get trapped. That's when we have to confront the silly, silly rule of we can't open anyone else's door.  the act of trying only causes more smoke.

I ask him if he's okay.
He says he doesn't know.
Is there anything I can do?
No, he knows that.

She calls it the don't touch me. 
He named it bitch.
Both got some sleep and woke up the next morning.

Today I am so very grateful for a new and improved day. Ya' know, the day which comes after we decide we didn't like the previous one.

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