It stormed all day and it stormed all night—
All through the night—it didn’t mitigate.
Through the window you can see the lightning dance across the sky,
Brightening the dark pit in the air, surrounding me and what once was there
Around me, around me and everyone surrounding me.
It stormed for minutes and it stormed for hours,
Hours I could’ve spent lying under the sun, cherishing these last moments of solitude,
But then the light came in and the rain poured on and that hope for time alone vanished.
I was surrounded by the raging Gods and their raging weapons of destruction.
The lightning no longer danced, but speared its way in my direction—
All through the night—it didn’t mitigate.
The dark pit in the air wasn’t brightened, but realized of its scars,
For they were illuminated by those weapons,
And those scars were surrounded and mounted and bounded with a transparency brought upon by that light.
And that light went on to remind me that I wasn’t alone.
I wasn’t alone and that was alright, but my company did not make me feel alright,
And so I went inside what I thought was shelter, but which was instead a haven—
A safe haven—for it held for me a space filled with lines and words and words and letters which were copied onto paper and bound by a fragility that would unbound if it were not appreciated.
And so I mended those bindings and digested those words,
And I replaced my old company of weapons with a new company of words.
Those words that I mended then mended and bended me into what I am now:
A reader.