Walking with an old friend on a summer evening in the muggy heat, oppressively waiting. Come the storm. The air will clear. The rain will cleanse. This saturated land can take no more.
I dreamt the flood reached my bedroom window in my childhood home. Panic. Where’s my mam?
The mother of all floods.
She’s already gone. Safe. A child’s worst nightmare, losing its mother. We are fragile. We are made of broken pieces. Shards. Hurting you was unintentional. A by product of my own pain.
Have you always known what to do? I haven’t. Have you always known the right thing to say? I haven’t. I am a piece of you. You are a piece of me. Without you I am incomplete. My shape will adapt and that is fine. The prototype of you in me will endure.
I am who I am through knowing you.
Let the storm rage.
The night is cooler. Drier. Still. Witnessing the silence between our souls.