my eyes are closed and my breathing is slow and from looking at me you would never know how broken i feel,
but i feel broken nonetheless.
i have been living as this storm for a long time now, and my hurricane walls are broken, but they're still up.
the winds tear me apart inside and push tears into my eyes, but i don't let them spill.  wind doesn't always bring rain.
sometimes it just howls, lonely and loud and cold, searching in the darkness for something unknown.
like me, searching for love, or peace, or companionship, or whatever it is that makes people happy.
what makes people happy?
i don't remember the last time i knew, because even when i'm smiling i'm a walking disaster.
i don't care about the people i care about and i don't like the things i love anymore.
i'm not a prodigy.  i'm not a hero.  i'm not a friend.  sometimes i think i'm barely even a person.
i'm just a storm, and if you keep your windows closed and you wish really hard, i'll blow over soon enough.