Be quiet, silent in fact. Strong: immune to the winds.
A furious hurricane couldn’t make me budge.
Stubborn or Spineless? Who knows?
Who cares?
I am livid. A triad of fury.
The wind blows my hair into my eyes and it annoys me. My hair has always annoyed me at least I can expect it, appreciate it for its constancy.
I am not used to this, the rage I mean. This debilitating anger.
But I don’t punch a wall or yell. I’m not going to write an angry poem or paint an ominous abstract. Nah, that’s just not my style.
So I’ll just be quiet.
Silent in fact.
