The Storm

As he tapped on my third eye with a faint attempt of restoring the balance of my emotional energies, something struck me and a peaceful wave of fresh air kissed my face reminding me of my dedicated and organized state of disorderliness that day. Uncombed conglomerate of wavy hair as it made its presence known to my face, spoonful of hormonal feature space, artistically crafted frequent outfit disasters, confident and yet guilt driven surrender to the closest thing to love, and the necessary publicly acknowledged display of so-called friendships all fit in the derivative of matrices i hid my impalpable self in. 

He had mastered the art of going off on a tangent in any given conversation. He spoke with flair and used metaphors and similes to extravagantly and surreptitiously portray an air of superior confidence hoping to continue living below the threshold of conscious perception. He arduously pitched a battle in close combat between mind and matter marking it by blithe unconcern of happiness of his being. His dialogue with the external world was polite in a teasing manner, questioning the basic tenets of his skepticism. His life warranted a given level of confidence that he inadvertently disregarded. And yet he made a difference that day. All the previous interactions with him had been like a humorous dry river bed, lacking natural moisture, depleted of all it's mortal energy. Yet, today I felt that the actual condemnation of him might have been just premature judgment on my part. But who can charge me with my inexperience in everlasting infernal political melodrama. 

This storm I had been actively participating in cannot be comically compared to nightmares of holocaust survivors. Nor did it have the first hand knowledge of the pain of hunger. Yet, it had the inexplicable potential of irreparably damaging your secular immaterial being. He had amusingly played the leading role in the creation of the conditions that had led to this storm.

That said, I did not disregard the characteristic of his human condition. And, I often wondered how happy he really was in his own skin, not that his happiness had any direct or indirect correlation to my state of contentment. It was just another fierce point of contention that violently challenged his innocence. But you and I both know this storm shall pass and we will transition to another awkwardly designed and permanently tattooed phase of life. Today, however, this consumes every particle of my existence. Today, I stand stateless and frail in the midst of this storm hoping for a better tomorrow filled with hope and promise.