My stomach gurgles and swirls with the storm. The heart attempts to gulp away the sickness. The sky is evil with tar and withered forgetmenots. A single, burst balloon bleeds into the bitumen. I smoke my forth, last cigarette. Stub it out on my wrists and pluck another from the pack. A page from an unwritten novel swings down from the heavens to the sound of Duke Ellington. My nails are bitten to the quick. But there is strength in my heart. Lao Tzu says that the vulnerable are really the strong. Perhaps then, we can sway with the emotional tempests, holding on to one another to keep our feet on the ground.
“In the world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong nothing can surpass it.”