A Storm

Everyone is variable. I thought I was the only variable of the equation of my life. I was wrong, very wrong. People around me move forward, hit the ground, deteriorate, love me, hate me, estrange from me, get close to me, levitate, frustrate, get drunk, become holy, love the devil, and never stop.

At the beginning of this year, I wrote a spontaneous sentence starting with “It could happen…” And one of them seems really happening now. My life can be shifted in the way that I have never projected due to the variable that I mistook as a constant. Ironically, this is the way that I secretly anticipated. Somehow my mind got frozen, vibrating like a large bronze bell hit by an ambitious blow.

Rain, wind, the gloomy sky. Grey, wind, the darkening sky. The blue jay. The geese couple stands so confidently on the road as if they can defeat any foes even the vehicles dashing towards them without slowing. The color of grey-blue forming with many layers calls forth a storm. I feel the wind on my face and my body. Standing still. What is it? What is coming? Did I call it as the clouds in the sky called the rain? Is it coming to me without any notice? The gushing wind warns me. Go inside, go inside. I should. But I stand on the same spot and dare to watch the frowning wind. The deep furrows among the angry clouds. Did I want to be someone? Or something? The big raindrops hit my face. What is coming? What will soak me? What will soak me inside out? Where do all the animals go in this merciless weather? How can they survive when they don’t have any inside to go to?

Life. Moves and stops. It usually stops when it isn’t expected to stop. Sometimes, it pushes me forward. Or pulls down. Or snaps my hair in the back with a sudden motion. Levity. Give me wings, so I can fly. Make me tumble, make me suffer, make me cry, make me anguish, make me scream with pain, make me pull my hair in the darkest night, make me deceive, make me be deceived, make me fall on my knees, make me lay my head in the cold pit, cover me with giant waves. But don’t take my wings. I brush them every night before I sleep. Maybe someday I can fly in my dream. But I only remember the falling after waking up. Then even my dream gets heavy. Heavy. Rain. Wind. Grey sky. Darker nights. Where did the small white butterfly go? My helpless wings.

<May 3rd, 2017>

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