A Billion Burning Dreams

Drowning In Our Attics She told me: “Sometimes I think you’re a storm and I’ve just been trying to capture lightning in a jar.”

Paraphrasing does no justice for the brevity of bravery imbued in her words. She spoke to me. You see, storms are not meant to be subdued. Just let them roll on like stones collecting no moss. Spewing frogs never to be kissed or turned into something sovereign. A plague. Solemn. Somber. Like… thunder or a million other metaphors for that which we have yet to understand.

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