• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 10

The Storm

While you were away there was a storm, the rain washed the city clean.

I took a personality quiz, it asked: Are you more comfortable before or after you make a decision? Except for some fallen palm tree leaves there were no other signs that the storm had even happened. I answered the quiz “before;” it’s always before, when possibilities are still multiple and the future is wide open, unknown.

The night before the storm there were fire engine sirens, but in the morning there were no signs that anything burned, but something must have, somewhere. The day of the storm there were fire engine sirens again, probably people stuck in flooded basements or elevators when the power went off.

The day before the storm had ended in a pink and golden sunset. The morning after was full of birds singing. We’re only here for a little while, in this world.

While you were gone I did all the laundry and folded everything like on that TV show. In a new journal I wrote, “Future goals: Walking in sunshine.” But the next day the storm came and then I forgot.

Summer will be here soon and we’ll be on the other side of things, the future known, the decisions made. I kept doing laundry until there was nothing left unclean, I listened to the storm come and go and waited for you to come back home.