Pieces of a storm.

Just hints.

The air is

sour.

The wind comforts me

with her fingers

in smooth strokes -

warm,

halfway-familiar,

though I shudder

with every breath.

Tonight,

my throat

is somehow

missing.

I am hot

and I am cold

at once,

but still I forge a path -

only forward,

always

forward.

I will bite my tongue

and tell myself

distance is an illusion.

Because I know

that shorter

is better,

I will make my footsteps

small

and even,

heel to toe.

I will smile

while I tremble

and remind myself

that fractured

is not severed.

Not broken.

Not broken.

Never close to broken.

No.

I am still going

outward

and onward

and forward

forever.

I am still breathing.

I am still compelled.

I am still convinced

of the purpose

regardless of this labyrinth

of circles.

I am

still

a l i v e.

b&w, black & white, and cracked windsield image
The fracture cannot make me forget it.