july

One of those summers that leave the other summers feeling empty and quiet, when so many things keep happening that they pile atop each other so high I can't see them anymore. So large each one, and as all, they fit together to become a background, a setting, a stage. Neil Gaiman wrote of it once, hurts so big they can't be felt. Storm clouds so ubiquitous it's just the sky is black, no sky at all. I can't feel any of these things separate from one another. I am only rolling along and if there's a cliff, I can't see it. I'll just roll right off the edge and be grateful for the quiet that follows when I land, when the dust settles. I am so tired I don't know early morning from late afternoon, I just keep on. And I keep on. And I'm waiting for the storm to break, a fork of lightening instead of these damn flashes of heat. I've never felt so certain of anything. And it's the serenity of it that makes me feel that way.