Disasters

Some things are more fantastical in writing with an innate editor who watches the lines to cry – foul.

To write with some distain is to afford the author’s lot.

If you want to know what it is like going through a major disaster imagine what it is like staring out from a life size dryer window as it is spinning slow. Nothing is ground. Nothing makes sense for a long time, not even to your own senses.

And the story doesn’t come out neatly folded and stored in days or events. Because time shatters and falls into two piles, what destroys and what saves. And from then on there’s a clinging to every soft and rounded thing that shapes us by the ability to hold it rather than our bleed.

There’s no way to embody it. It is alive and it is dead and the pen loses track.

And those who knew you no longer fully do. It’s just, you would never tell them that. You save that for yourself to enjoy the comfort of some preservation.