Weary is the wanderer who travels with no true destination, Hesitant is the past he's abandoned home, Unconscious is his pursuit with no avail, Forgotten is her memory as he treads sporadically; endless turmoil.
I have since learned how to temper the storm that is me. On the outside at least. Inside however the wind still rages. The waves still beat with an unforgiving furry. I have not known stillness in quite some time. With stillness, peace has also been a stranger. Every day I fear that the storm I have caged will break free and show the world it’s wrath.
I bought a book whose prompt was to write about a storm.
Don't imagine what it's like to be with me Because I'm not an easy person to be with I will tell you I won't cheat But you will think I am lieing I will not make you feel secure Because when you ask me about my day Or why I dropped off the face of the earth for hours on end I will tell you I don't remember And I'm only partially lieing because I don't want to tell you that my mind was in the clouds and the characters in my head i find more important than you But don't take this personally because I don't find many in reality more important than the people I dream up So while you assume I'm cheating I'm digging craters in my bedroom floor pacing around my room talking to myself But I'll tell you I don't remember Because that's so much easier than explaining the turmoil going on in my brain