Repose

The storm never came. Manhattan merely got whipped by its skirttails and the day was bitterly cold.

I crawled underneath that dark rock, to hide from the unending winter and perpetual dread, feeling that I had already done enough complaining to my surroundings and wearing their patiences with my self-pity. But the thing is, arriving in that dark, quiet, place, I was nothing but relieved. Here is a place I remember; here is a safe space I know.

Because as I took the day off, not only from social responsibility but from self-imposed guilt over unaccomplished agendas, I found myself in that place where the Word lies. Where all things are obsolete except the quick tap taps on my computer's keyboard. Where page after empty page is filled with the strings of letters that make our stories.

Here is Life. It may be dark, lonely, accompanied by mourning music, but it is Life, and it is mine. I sink in. I relax. And I write.