The clouds hang low, all of them, thick as barbeque smoke. As if they're trying to help me with my suffocation, beckoning solitude and silence.
I'm not opposed, and, if I could fly I would welcome their embrace and meet them halfway.
Finally, the weather matches just how cold I have become, I'm shivering, a futile attempt to bring warmth back to the cold carcass of my psyche. The cloud, she laughs at me, whipping around in the wind and approaching with intention and understanding.
The clouds are lower now, having heard my silent call, they come closer.
I can see every face of every decision I've ever made in her mist as it envelopes me. Arms as cold as the a/c, her body surrounds me as if I've jumped in a river. But I haven't. I'm not moving, I am still on the earth.
The clouds work her way all around my body, I can feel the gap of warmth on my back get smaller as she surrounds me. She's happy to include me in her cold existence, happy to share her wisdom.
But I cannot spread the message as I am the message.
The clouds have taken me to be with her. I am no longer flesh to earth. I am water in air. The cloud, she tells me quietly and cold against my ear, that she laughs because there is no need for comparison to what we are not. She laughs because she has helped others and sees how silly it all is in the grand scheme. She has been around since father sky and mother earth birthed her. The cold is her warmth, she welcomes those who have lost their warmth.
YOU ARE READING
Just A Broken Thing
PoetryThese are the thoughts and feelings that go through the mind of a young, broken girl. She doesn't make sense and doesn't expect you to make any out of it.
