I met you and fell into a hurricane. Wind and rain and gray swirled around me as I tumbled and spun and was thrust from one storm edge to the other. I reached out my hands to hold steady and found nothing but churning movement slipping through my fingers.
The sound was ringing in my ears – your name, your name, your name, shouted over and over through the pouring of rain and the whistling of wind. You said your name and it was a thunderclap in my ears. To this day it’s all I can hear.
My ears were ringing and my arms flailed. You came near and touched my skin – my skin pelted by water, scratched by debris, fully awake in the cold so cold it felt like fire. It was your hands on me that brought the storm’s embrace.
Sometime in the a.m.:
The feeler stays awake, any way she can, through the fog of wine, through the pulse of music, through the rushing of time no hand will stop.
I did not choose to be here, not now, not ever. Yet, continually, it seems, you refuse to tell me why I am.
“I am alive!” people exult every day, but it takes more than what is in me to simply state it for myself.
Yet alive – even if just technically – I am. Grace has kept me from finding the means to willingly change this.
And so the feeler continues, through this night and through as many in which time does not play its hand.
Purpose, come to meet me.
Will, come to save me.
Truth, tread down before me the path to follow.
Time, time, I will stay.