All night the western sky burns with anger. Mountains of condensation flash and break. The noise is deafening. I watch from behind glass, safe, yet I feel the ice, watch the particles collide, fear the lightning, hold fast to something solid. I can’t turn away, yet seek rational comfort, hot chocolate, a wool sweater to cover my smallness. I long for someone to tell me, “it’s going to be all right, you’ll be safe.” I want arms around me, holding me. But all I do is stand at the window, my mouth open. Holy Fuck Jesus Christ Mother of God.
"Classic"
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