I've weathered worse.
The opposite of pure light isn't total darkness. It's the twilight that lingers for weeks when the candles have burned below their wicks and wax has spilled onto the tables and no one cares if the newspapers are piled on the porch.
I've walked among the dead and among those who beg to die and my heart holds the scars of both yet it still stirs at the memories of their living.
Mantra.
The tap, tap of the keyboard can start a rhythm that makes me forget - at least for a while - that I need to pull air in, feed my brain, and let the stale air out. It keeps me from getting stuck at some point, guppy breathing and dumbstruck by the outlandish folly of throwing down the gauntlet with myself - yet again.
The thought of howling out of the depths of another self-imposed cyclone is daunting.
tap. tap. tap.
Center of the storm.
Salvation. One key at a time.
©Michelle Scofield, October 9, 2010 All Rights Reserved
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