Hurricane.

I hope he still reads what I write. He used to almost every day. I could never speak the way I wrote and I think he understood better this way.

I hope he understands the hurricane I’m in and that I don’t know how to stop the storm. Once it dies down I have to rebuild and learn how to regrow and reform. 

You gave me the right pressures to begin to swirl. The right temperatures to spiral down from the sky. You fueled me, you made me, one slight push and the only hope was to hide in the eye. 

If you read the churning inside my brain you’ll know everything is jumbled and I’m afraid to stop raging again. You’ll know the “you’s” aren’t just you but him, too. You’ll know how dangerous hurricanes can be. You’ll know that you were the final push…that is all that I need. 

I want you to hear the sirens blaring in the cloudless night. To feel the fear that a storm might take your life. I want you to know the same fear that I’ve  always seen. I can’t stop to rebuild because who would help me?

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