Today, I feel great. My tornado mind has died down, and I've cleared the mess it left behind.
Watching yourself shatter and scatter is a strange thing to see - the quiet aftermath even more so. Sometimes I feel that no sentence could hold all the words that I have lodged in my throat, those heavy words that slid down from my mind so defiantly, enjoying watching me choke and stutter.
And sometimes, on days like these when the leaves dance on the trees, and the September air smells like a thousand hues of green, it pulls me to my living room window like a cartoon character being led by the nose to the waves of the pie cooling on the kitchen table. It tugs on my sleeve and whispers in my ear; "let me in". And I do. Every time, I do. Tonight, I opened up my window and inhaled those greens, I breathed in the scent of mountains and memories so deeply that I wondered if my lungs would sprout flowers. And there in that moment, I realized, that my weakness wasn't ever loving you. It was loving feeling alive.