I was waiting for the storm to cease before I take to the shore and build myself a home.
But it’s been many years now and I’m starting to realize that if I don’t assert my existence as being other than an interlude in between the storms, I’ll be claimed as the audience of a show I did not agree to
My silence doesn’t mean da capo
But then again, my silence doesn’t mean anything because I let suffering grow like weeds on the abandoned shore. In my desire to escape the turbulence, I slipped into the ocean, like driftwood.
Seasick, shivering, sleepless. Perhaps making my way to the shore is worth the risk