A quiet moment within the summer night. The sound of cicadas breaking the silence. Crickets are playing hymns of forgotten songs. I remember the stories my mother used to tell. […]
Broken days causing the loss of time—our money gone along with our peace of mind. We will sell our souls to go outside.
A gentle breeze becomes a bellowing wind. The air is dirty and difficult to breathe. Dust devils dancing within the calamity. I am standing still.
I am fixated on a situation from long ago. That moment has become the standard of measure. Balance of thought consumed by the trauma. The scale unfairly weighs.