i am considering the smell the rain leaves in its wake. who is to decide the line between peace and entropy? between serenity and destruction? you’re just mist in the mountains now, but that doesn’t change the fact that you made me realize why they name hurricanes after people. you made me realize i can never draw the line between the calm and the chaos because my hands are shaking and they have not stopped since you left. but humor me this; where does it all come from? my surroundings are caving to tumultuous doom and yet i’m senseless in a dark room because you still haven’t called. the thunder is shaking my tables and chairs but the ringing in my ears has filled all empty space. I AM SCREAMING IN A VOID AND YOU ARE GONE, YOU ARE GONE, YOU’VE SLIPPED RIGHT THROUGH THESE FINGERS THAT LOVED YOU AND HELD YOU AND WANTED TO CHANGE THE WHOLE WOrld just so you’d have a dry spot to sleep. my soft cheeks are damp but that’s all white noise now; subtle and unremarkable, but it helps me fall asleep most nights. they say insomnia is like perpetual motion but the only subject i’m interested in studying anymore is the state of your fingertips and why they haven’t been tracing my skin, in places only the warm wind of clouds touches now, but all they do is leave me tortured. i feel restless at best. and yes; these days the rain seems to know me better than i myself. but don’t find comfort when you pull back your shades tomorrow morning, and all signs of natural disasters have (temporarily) subsided. for first i am in the storm; the **** eye of the hurricane; and when it’s had enough,

then the storm is in me.

-*k.c.