F#m

The storm brews and gathers, it huffs and puffs itself into existence around you, feeding off the anxious scraps you shake like dandruff into the air. It follows your every step up Broadway, across the red lights, around the block as a strange heat wave pushes ahead of you, you don't hear what people are saying to you but your feet know the way without you.

At some point, when I was young, I began to sing. It started in my chest and curved around my hips, it vibrated out to my fingertips and electrified my hair, made the room swim. Hours, days, lifetimes were spent in that current and it kept the air in my lungs. I am older now, and there isn't much time, but some days, if I'm very quiet, the chords still strike my spine, still tingle the back of my head and I am lost to a melody that owns me.

I step out of the surf cleansed. Let the storm recede with the tide.