Commenta Storm

The Slow Build

2022-08-24T22:15:00.002-07:00

passion

What I want is what's not often prescribed in the world of love today.
The patient, slow intensely building passion that comes from holding back in small measures, restraining our desire to rush forward in the heat of lust into the body of another for just a little while longer so that we can build that upon itself over & over until we fit more perfectly, if that's possible.

We don't yet know each other and yet somehow our chemistry is talking to one another on a biological level that gives us the idea that we do know each other, despite the temptation of strangers making bedfellows.

This is not today's pace; today's pace of love which is really more lust is about HERE, NOW, do it!! Let's get it over with & build on that. Even if it turns out that we may not be compatible after all & eventually, maybe even quickly, part. This isn't what I want though, I don't want to part but stay, together long enough to build real bonds. Not just temporary notions of chemical connection that so brilliantly fool the mind. Something stronger.

The pace of love imbued with lust in a rock solid fashion that holds like a mast in a storm. This is what I want.

12/22/15©DM.

The War in Your Mind~

2022-08-06T03:03:00.008-07:00

There's a battle being raged, right at home.
A war of notions, bent & twisted, frantic fears.
Coursing rapidly through your mind as you go about your day.

It's only in the quiet of the night and moments in between bursts of excitement, grand energetic output tying up the ministrations of our day, where we can hear it in full bloom.
The noise of worry.

Our brain tortures us, poisoned by the well of human existence, time, fear, history & information; full of chaos & love. Ugliness & war. Want & need.
Cascading down in a torrent until we are drowning in our own imagination.

We process everything, every night as if somehow that's going to resolve, anything. When it does not.

Modern life has left our souls tired from so much.
We are kept at a pace our poor minds cannot keep up with and thus at the end of the day, we cycle through our entire lives, all at once. Wearing us thin in the process. Breaking our souls.

As a result, building a person full of fear & hopelessness because our brains, on their own journey, disembodied from the self at times, thinks it can filter & sift through all of life, all at once and find the answers alone.

It cannot.

Washed in fear, scared of life's harsher realities at times...there isn't much we can do but embrace life’s sweeter things in it's fullest fashion in this moment, as it stands.

Learning to ignore these obsessive & worried thoughts here and there can give us the gift of sleep we so desperately need so we can start the next day clean, calm & refreshed in the hopes of something better, less painful and blooming with joy instead. At the very least, not be riddled & worn with fear.

Give yourself permission to let go of those thoughts, to stop trying to fix everything in your mind. Because literally, you cannot. Repeat that when necessary.

Just remember to live hard, live in the now.
Fully embracing one's life, is all you can do.
Love yourself deeply, love others when you can.
And keep breathing through the pain.

The Soul of Love~

2022-05-03T23:42:00.008-07:00

From a space that lives within me, you exist.
A soft budding notion that never dies for very long.
A warm, full feeling of passion & home, safe yet exciting.
When the land is ripe & the sky is open, I feed you and you grow from within.
Springing from the ground with joy & heat, you fill my soul with a broadness, a love and passion that takes up all the space in my body.

But when the earth is dried & scorched, burnt from the pain of the sun, shining so bright it muddies the mind, confusion sets in and I forget to feel, I forget how to grow within & love.

When my heart goes quiet & falls into the background with all the other unbegotten desires, in a world full of so much noise it cannot hear itself beat, the sky grows full of gray soaked clouds desperate to burst yet hold themselves back, the earth goes dead.

The very presence of you begins to dry up & disappears; Going into ground.
Perhaps it is good thing, because then I can stop wanting, pining so deeply I ache. I can stop thinking about the constant hunger in my soul for you.

Some plants do exist with very little moisture. Yet they are rare species. This is not something I want to be, rare. Unless I can find the perfect pairing of earth & water so I can help you come into form.
A special union that only exists in the most precious of moments when sky opens up to welcome the sun. Then maybe I'll be that rare, waiting patiently.

After some time, waiting, forgetting this feeling exists, forgetting all about you so deftly, something happens that feeds the seedling buried deep in the ground, waiting for light.
Knocking it from it's underground slumber it moves ever so slightly, sending tiny shivers & waves of vibrations into the center of my body. I feel you again.
Some small reminder falls into my mind, my soul and opens the hull around the seed and lets expansion begin, again.
Some note, a sound evokes movement deep within, reminding me I am soft in the middle. Especially with you nearby. I am even softer.

So I'll sit patiently waiting, growing & pining for the right amount of moisture to occur, raining down upon me, my insides to hasten the growth of this seed, this notion and bring you into form.

5/3/22©DM

Also...

Link below for a lovely romantic poem by:

Pablo Neruda-

The Darkness Knows Your Name

2022-05-03T04:36:00.014-07:00

Once you have been to the darkest part of yourself, the darkest part of the night, the darkness knows your name. It's as if it remembers your smell, your shape & seeks out your company forever more. It thinks you belong in the dark, for it is a hungry space that is constantly filled over & over with the emptiness we feel. It feeds on our pain.

It is a shadow that beckons us in the coldest of moments. Even in between the moments of joy, it can howl your name. Make you wonder if you are hearing things amidst the laughter & pleasure you savor.

You suddenly feel it creep in without notice & find yourself looking around the room, the world to see what just changed even though nothing actually has. It's just you being summoned by your grief, by your sadness. By the darkness.

When the energy of the day has waned & you crumble between the spaces of your life, between the fatigue in your back & the over extension of will to finish one more thing, accomplish one more thing, connect with one more person so you don't have to feel the solitude of your humanity, done with the day, the darkness creeps in uninvited. It knows you are there.

In between the parts that feed you & the parts that bleed you, this is when the darkness sets in. It senses vulnerability & weakness, it senses you are alone & beaten by the day and creeps in, perhaps thinking it is a friend & will comfort you. Yet it does not.

It feels that fatigue & slithers in backwards so you don't see it coming. It beckons you once again.

But it is an empty space that demands more & more no matter how much of your soul you give it. So it cannot continue if you are to. At some point, one must rise up & fight the darkness, even if it feels like it's teeth have already sunken in. Resist it. Keep walking away.

And this is what you know you must do if you are going to continue to survive this all encompassing darkness, this hollow space that sucks the very life out of your soul and dampens the will to soldier on...resist it. With every piece of rope & sinew in your body, turn your back on the shadow & tell it,

'Not this time, thank you. I'm busy livin'.

There may be a time when you can sit with the darkness, listen to what it's trying to tell you, it's secrets, it's pain. See if it holds a message that will grow your wings and use it for some deeper mystery to be solved. But tonight is not that night.

Tonight you want to continue with the joy of the day, the potential for more & the hope that you can stave off the grief & worry, one more day. Tell the shadow to go find some other secret place to burrow itself into, instead of haunting you.

5/3/©DM

Moving on is Hard

2022-04-30T22:47:00.007-07:00

Leaving behind the past is like trying to leave a limb behind. Whether it be old friends who have fallen like leaves by the wayside of time, old ways of being that no longer fit with a new soul, old wounds & sorrows that haunt you. Forgoing a huge part of yourself because it seemingly no longer has an obvious use yet you're still attached to it, is a huge mountain to crawl over. It's like leaving an entire leg behind and then trying to run, you can't. But you know you must let go of things long past alive so you can live now, in the present instead of carrying around the wounds, heartaches and even fond memories of the past. The memories cling to you like the smell of smoke after walking through fire.

You're forced to crawl away slowly, painfully leaving a bloody trail reminding you of what you left behind, a giant piece of yourself. All you've known. A huge part of who you were, is now gone.

You're left to recreate the next part of your life, figuring out who you are now without the familiar weight of the past guiding you. If anything, it moors you, locking you into a long forgotten way of being that may or may not serve your life as you are now. The truth about starting over is that it's terrifyingly blank if you don't already have an idea of who you are & where you want to go. If you do then count yourself lucky. If you really are starting over, then hang on for a bumpy ride.

At first you constantly feel the past haunting you like a sad, hungry ghost with a deep need to be seen, as if the past never left. Please remember me, please come back with me now, things were better then. Just like one might think they feel a lost leg that it's still there, but it's not. Neither is your past but in your own mind, boiling over & over as you process the losses, the pain & the remnants of lust, cooking your thoughts down to a mushy vague feeling so that you cannot think clearly. Dulled by the constant pangs of sadness or guilt, or the yearnings no longer being satisfied. You are consumed by what was and the fear that it may never be again.

Because truthfully, you miss it. It may have hurt then or felt better but it was familiar, it existed. It was real. Now you're lost without this framework helping you figure out what happens next. Will it, things, love, pain, experience happen again? There is great uncertainty & thus, loss. Real solitude as you begin again.

It's only after you've been crawling for awhile and get far enough away from your past that it starts to fade into the background. It becomes a thin phantom of a memory wisping about instead of an ever present ghost trying to relive things gone by. Reminding you of failures, fears & passion that you feel slipping sadly, longingly into the background of your soul, out of reach. But for a long while as you move through the present, you feel every bump in the road and that reminds you that you no longer have that leg, or the past. That it's gone and all you can do is remember it, miss it and then grieve it's departure from your life. And that is a truly heart-wrenching passage to go through, like carrying around the weight of your own sadness.

4/27/22©Dm.

Borrowed Image: Tareck Raffoul

What are you?!

2016-09-12T23:13:00.002-07:00

You're not black or brown or red or yellow or even really white, so what are you?
You're something in between. Nobody says it but I can see what they mean.

9/16©DM

We Gave Up Too Fast

2016-03-02T02:49:00.003-08:00

Some nights remind me of the losses over the years.
Those who've fallen by the wayside, literally and emotionally.
Like leaves falling from trees that most people don't notice.
Falling to the death of themselves, our friendships ended without a word.
For no cause or infraction, they ended with a quiet finish to a once bright beginning.

How easily some come into our lives, and how easily & pointlessly some leave.

What is it that a soul needs to continue? What food is required to keep it alive and satisfied so that it doesn't go searching for dirt instead?

I spent too much time in the cave and when I came out, there was nothing but snow…dead branches all around me. No sign of life.
So I went back in, thinking that there was no reason to come out again.

Problem was, eventually I ran out of what kept me alive in there. So I came out and this time I saw that still there was nothing worth coming out for. But now I couldn't return to the cold corners of the cave and instead, went searching for the soft warmth of winter sun.

We all gave up too fast on each other, moving on too easily without effort. Off we went in our own directions, walking silently away without a word.

Fall2015©DM

The Rage of Years Gone By

2016-03-02T01:58:00.024-08:00

Rage sits in me like a stone falling down ever so slowly to the bottom of my soul.
Cold and still burning me, my rage never goes away.

Like the prophets beg for us, breathe in, calm out.
But really, hold it back. Nobody wants your pain, nobody wants to see your suffering. That's all for show really.

The breathe in, calm out, rage gone bit. That's just dogma designed to silence you for the benefit of others comfort.

Smile, make it look smooth on the outside. Everything's ok.

For show.

But it's not. It's still there burning me alive, slowly with a white hot heat that never really fades.
It's what keeps me so warm at night.

Some part of me won't let it go. I won't conform to this banal existence of polite complacency. Smile, everyone's watching.

Some part of me holds on to my rage as a reminder not to let those things happen again, not to be fooled, again.
But it doesn't work like it's supposed to; it ends up the other way mechanistically, yet it's part of who I am. It's embedded in my soul.

So I keep looking.
Must find pearls.

7/15©Danya Mosgofian

Winter's Thaw~

2016-03-02T01:24:00.002-08:00

In the slow dawning of Spring, underneath us all is a quiet breaking of what has been. That which held us still for a time is now loosening to break free and take us with it.

But sometimes Spring comes too early. Sometimes we're not ready to move forward into the bouncing era of newness and unknown events and we want to stay put in the dark cave of winter a little while longer. For it was there that we came to know ourselves much deeper than in the months of Spring when distraction, becomes the way.

It is there where we felt the safest even though our blood ran cold and hearts stopped for awhile. At least it was quiet. We could rest.

A reticence slumps in that creates a weight, refusing to break us forward. Cast in mud frozen solid we pause, waiting for a better moment to ascend into light.

Sometimes the soul knows what it wants more than what it actually needs and refuses to let the body go on in peace.

So as Spring ascends onto the world around us, we watch in delight and sadness wondering what it holds ahead. Will we be able to break free of all ice or will we stay put in the cold with blooms falling all around us?

3/1/16©DanyaMosgofian

I will not stay calm~!

2015-12-19T00:41:00.001-08:00

Learning to calm myself despite feeling the storm building all around me feels like trying to stuff a whale into a bottle.
I fight the urge to fight, to rage against the world of injustice and irritation like gods and generals. Like men do.
Because there is no place for a woman of anger in this world.

The rage builds so large inside me that I begin to think I cannot breathe, so I stop breathing. Then when the head grows dizzy, reality sinks in and the pain I am in over what is so wrong in the world becomes even more real.
I cannot hide from it. The pain is still there, so my rage is still there.
So I will not stay calm!

Acid churns up, swaying the bow like a boat lost at sea, I curl inward in pain.
Anger is addictive.
But I must learn to calm this storm.

Sometimes I think it'd be ok to be swallowed alive, maybe live at the bottom of a beast in the sea where there is just enough space to light a candle in the dark.
I'll simply sit still, listening to the sounds of nothing but acid and water moving around me like a creep in the night.
I'll wait there patiently until I can crawl back to hell in one piece.

I will take this anger and use it for fuel to help me climb out on ribs and flesh, pulling my way up through the belly of the beast into the soft space that lies between the teeth, where I will slide out the next time the beast's rage burns open a hole in the sky.

Don't stuff the beast back into the bottle. Set it free, use it for fuel.

Danya Mosgofian©7/15 & 12/15

Into the Wind~

2015-07-02T00:32:00.000-07:00

A wild wind blew in today, hot heavy and full of secrets.

Giving us false promise of a storm to come,

of a time of destruction that isn't going to happen.

It was easy to get excited, to stir in our seats like children at the cinema.

Waiting for the show to begin sitting under that very same sky

as if it could not happen here, right here, to us.
We sat there obliviously, unaffected to move in the glee of our curiosity.

After all, it turned out only to be a show.

The wind pushed it's way into the evening, moving tree and limb about in

a dizzy array of power. One could do very little with it but sit as still as you

were able, smiling like a criminal unwitnessed and let it pass us by.

Life has a way of breaking us down as we trod along.
What helps us not break but bend and sway?
Some might say do as the willow does.

Sitting below, I am witness to one that has figured out the wind. They have figured out how to dance in the wind, matching it's passionate fury step for step, using it's rage to aloft itself: the hawk. So I wonder...
How does the hawk maintain it's dizzying heights in the mad wind

while looking for prey, doing it's job, whilst pausing mid-air like a machine with precise levers and maneuvers?
Hanging on hover in the sky like a declaration of defiance, right in plain view.

It does this by facing straight into the wind, shoulders back, wing tips down

and ready for a fight. It doesn't back away, gliding into the quiet of the sky, looking for an easy place to hide.

No, the hawk faces the wind like an old friend acting like a foe.
It does this, by using the wind's every breath and turn like a tool.
Like a mould designed to guide that which it desires right where the user wants.

So this is the secret to life. Head right into the storm of our lives as if

nothing can stop us. Know that it is our right to be here so push past that which is thrown out to deter us. Fly right past it all with defiance and bravado.

For your next meal depends on it.

Some might say, go peacefully, be patient for what you want and it will come.
Maybe. For on some quiet and peaceful days we can. But not today.

When the wind dies down again, as it will, then you can rest on a perch high

above all and sit quietly restoring yourself, patiently.

For now, watch the hawk dive into the wind beak down, talons turned in and a birth right to do so with all the rage in the world summoned.
Go and do the same.

7/1/15©DanyaMosgofian

Forming Motion~

2015-04-09T01:26:00.002-07:00

~The clouds form strange patterns today,
dancing sideways, bringing in a breeze that
changes the tone of the sky.
My teeth escape, poking out behind flesh and grin,
ready to bite something, snarling quietly.
Time for a song to quiet the angry beast within…
or give it something pleasant to dance to~

~Uncertainly

2014-03-01T21:13:00.001-08:00

In between the busy moments of production, washed in the sweat of the drive to live again, underneath quiet moments of focus and fortitude, lies an uncertainty of hope.
Everything you do is for maybe, so that possible can exist, someday.
Despite the mad pouring of self into work, the frenzied fashion with which one makes, more and more and more until toppling over blind-eyed; A quiet doubt looms in the shadows, waiting patiently to be seen like a father waiting for birth.

What lies in the shadow terrifies me, making me want to crawl into a dark space and disappear for awhile.
Afraid to look. Yet despite my hard work, it beckons me to notice. Desperately.
It cries to me even when music is played to deafening heights, screaming behind notes, LISTEN TO ME!
But I just cannot look. I don't want to go back into that dark space that I resided in for so long, a place of must and defeat...where I paid a high price to live for awhile.

Maybe someday, soon I won't have to ignore the beckoning of the deep and will take a few minutes to listen, to find out what the shadow wants.
To sit down and have a conversation with the darkness, knowing which direction is away.
When we are done, I'll go back to work like a fiend running to fix, but at least then, I'll understand what was being said in the dark.

Until that day, I will toil and labor on like a mole seeking light, upwards and away from the dark.

3/1/14©DanyaMosgofian

Credo

2014-01-07T19:02:00.002-08:00

Some place to go...

~I want to stretch out my soul, open wide and break free from the box.
Confining, defining, with only a darkened silver lining.
Crack open and bleed sunlight, shed shadows and dust, branching outward into light; breaking off dead dried up pieces so that I can bound high, touch low and share in more of this mess called life~

7/18/11©DanyaMosgofian

Through Their Eyes

2013-10-16T15:44:00.002-07:00

When I see myself through their eyes, I see gnarls.
I see a twist of body like a rooted tree gone nuts, tangling into itself, searching for moisture from it's own veins.
Random sprays of green shoot out like desperate attempts to grab at living, breath unbreathed incomplete. Instead, collapsed inward.
When I look into your eyes and see outward, shards of glass come at me through you.
What seems like a blinding brilliance is nothing more than lenses without filters, firing every thing, every image all at once without pause.

Why would I look then. Why would I want to see such an ugly totem carved out by others dangling over me from such a narrow view, reminding me of a broken mirror image instead.
Remind me to close my eyes and see within, instead of looking through your eyes, else I be blinded by fear.

10/16/13©DanyaMosgofian

Turning Down

2013-09-06T18:46:00.001-07:00

Fall is coming I can feel it. The quiet mystery of air cooling pushes in without a word, telling us to get ready to go deeper. A stillness enters and skies ready themselves to open up, breaking for release. Our bodies curl in preparation for this change. Thoughts of warmth begin to form and intimate moments beckon to us. Time to turn down into our bodies so we can see the world from a different perspective, one that connects us to the earth.

Gently

2013-09-06T18:34:00.001-07:00

If we hold on during the tough moments and let go during softer moments, there are a million tiny specks of light and dust filled with wisdom, love and insight that can filter into our hearts and lead the way into a deeper space of living; further expanding our experience in life, outward and on. Just keep on breathing the in's and out's of life. Keep your heart and mind open and be ready for those moments so you can inhale deeply when they happen.

6/1/12©DanyaMosgofian

Done

2013-08-07T01:45:00.005-07:00

Time has been long in my soul. It drags on with me in tow.
My bones are starting to decay, falling apart in small microscopic measures.
The dust they emit fills up my mind, my vision, cluttering the clarity I once had so logic no longer makes sense.
Instead, what forms is raw emotion ladened with restraint, forming into thought, filling my head to near bursting.

I think I have been on this earth too long and I am quietly crumbling from within.

6/4/13

Faith

2013-07-11T16:20:00.001-07:00

Having faith in yourself, much less others can be most challenging at times. Rebuilding it from scratch is not unlike conjuring water from dust. You have to keep rubbing your fingers to death and hope that when you put your hands out there, they are washed clean.

There is a moment when only dust exists, waiting until small bits of hope fall onto you, washing doubt away, reminding you it can be done. Slowly building up the foundation so you can stop wringing your hands and life away on worry.

Dark

2013-06-22T23:58:00.002-07:00

Shady creatures, slinking about hide behind well-formed excuses that have ingrained themselves into dark places. Making it seem that all is well, nothing is off and yet the sky is crooked when you look up. Living lies all around me.

Ramblings of Agitation-6/22/13

Seeing Devious

2013-06-22T23:49:00.004-07:00

It's become clear that which was obscured, something I fought hard not to exist within me, exists despite my better intentions to avoid it. Deep down inside a fortress of deceptive self-preserving mechanisms, things I do not like, are growing.
Ugly as I ever thought I could be but not to the visible eye, just to me. I am becoming.
I separated myself from things I thought to be beneath me, things I thought were wrong and cruel. I fought hard to avoid that which turns man into animal and back to man again, seething with danger.
And yet as time grinds on, I have seen small inklings of those very things creeping out from inside of me when I wasn't looking. Startlingly so.
How did this come to be?
I did not know I could be so mortal, so petty as to deceive myself while also deceiving another.
All unintentionally of course.
I did not ever think I would...
What has happened to me when I wasn't looking?

6/4/13©DanyaMosgofian

Shed

2013-04-29T00:13:00.001-07:00

Moving slowly as if from a dream, crawling out from underneath the weight of heavy skin. Like flakes of dried snow, the outside begins to peel away to reveal something else.
New flesh soft and clear is revealed so young and uncertain, it stays awhile longer under old, cemented crust watching, waiting to make a move into new.

Though for awhile there was nothing but tearing. A ripping apart of old skin by some giant outside claw, coming in without an invitation, searching for something unseen and destroying everything in sight.

So many old familiar things torn into dead. Leaving in it's wake, a cold and frightened shell asking why? Gone are those that felt like fixtures and reliable old landmarks.

Stolen from someone who may have needed them, badly. These layers have been taken away painfully to reveal something. What that is, remains uncertain.
In the mean time, the question stays silent in the air...why?

Why were so many things pulled out from the hands that held onto what looked like long wooden sticks to stay upright with, creatures of faith and love that have now become dust.

Why must the process of letting go be so elusive and mean? I'm sure there is some beautiful story in the answer but in the mean time, anger boils into acid and shards of distrust form ready, to be used.

New Skin

2013-04-15T21:44:00.001-07:00

Can a snake choose what kind of skin it wears? Can it morph into an entirely different set of scales and a new pattern if it so chooses?
Grow different appendages so that it can move in different ways?

I'm ready to be something else.
I have lived in this skin for far too long and it no longer feels comfortable, maybe it never did but I figured I had no choice but to continue slithering around the way I had.

Thinking maybe, I don't have to. Maybe there is a way to change forms, become another something and grow into different.
There must be as land is melted into earth, birds walk to take flight and snow forms from thin air. There must be a way to change the very essence of being so that what lies on the outside is as true as what lives on the inside.

Obsolescence

2013-04-08T12:14:00.002-07:00

As the pattern on a ceramic dish wears away, the cracks in the body begin to show. Lines that define the age of a piece are revealed to show it's true wear and tear, beyond the pretty curls and designs that previously distracted the eye. Edges become worn, jagged that if not careful are sure to cut those that handle this dish too clumsily, without regard.

It begins to become unused and is only kept around for sentimental value, seldom brought out for show except on rare occasions during a moment of aching nostalgia. Then it is held with love and gentleness as it is fondled and turned about by someone who misses a time long ago, no longer possible. Till then, it sits high above the rest of the other ware, separated from the oft-used utilitarian dishes and instead, left alone because it no longer has the solidity to hold itself together. It is considered weak and quaint and therefore abandoned in the daily chores of living.

Someday when I have space, when I have the right things aligned I will have two sets of dishes. One set will be perfect and exquisitely beautiful, so that no one will ever want to use them, except on rare special elaborate functions. The other set, will be a hodge-podge of sad neglected old dishes that no longer were wanted by anyone else and sat lonely on shelves to collect skin and time. These dishes will be used until the cracks widen, chips of plate will fall off into my food so I have to stop and look at what I'm eating more carefully. The color will fade and require me to look deeper into them when someone asks me what shade they are. I will have forgotten the name of who made them and make up a name to fit the smudged remnants of writing on the back, creating fantastic tales of the dishes journey.

I will drink from mason jars and old cans, wiping my mouth with old shirts. I will then clean the dishes with soft cotton socks that we wore as children, so they know what it's like to be tended to again.

And when they fall apart, into the sea of dishwater I will take those new dishes off the walls from display, and start all over so that someday my glorious new trinkets will become old again and remind someone else that everything always has a place, no matter how worn and jagged it becomes.

Dry Season

2013-04-06T00:23:00.001-07:00

I can see changes in the sky this day.
Clouds form strange lines that look like they are dancing sideways away, or towards something.
A silence crawls over me, like new skin forming.
Except this time it's covered in fur and scales. Readying itself for some kind of rage coming from the sky.

Despite the threat of this torrent, for some time now it's been dry all around and inside me, if I'm honest.
Perhaps it's better that the rain has been gone long enough for things to dry out, for smells to disperse, for things not better contained to escape.
This way my back can dry out. The skin can heal and close.
With time to shore up loose ends, my bones can grow stronger, fusing themselves together in fortitude for the next storm.

I crawl out onto a warm rock and sprawl my body across it like a dying animal. Basking in the frightening heat of a future summer storm yet to come, my sinew softens and I melt into stone.
The thought occurs that I could stay here forever, seduced by the heat of the earth, warmed by the fire in the sky, telling me I am whole again.

Until a reason grows otherwise, I will stay here as long as I need to dry out.