Natural disasters are so beautiful.
Sometimes they get ugly, they're loud and frightening, but still, there is beauty in them. We find beauty in them because we have to- if not, they're going to happen anyway.
I'm sitting in my living room and its dark corners are reflecting the shadows looming outside. In the vicinity there are loud sirens booming through intersections and stop signs while thunder crackles like bombs dropping from the sky. Coincidentally, inspiration and nostalgia collide when the rain starts to fall and I can feel myself begin to pick apart the last week of my life.
A week ago I was safe, you were in Atlanta, the coffee was strong, my mother was in town, Muriel and Joe were still friends, the cats were flea-ridden, the weather was warm and sunny, and I was unaware of how much he liked me- everyone wore green, it was St. Patricks Day. The night ended in a way I would have never dreamt of happening after a series of events, bars, and shots of whiskey. We smiled and laughed and danced and walked fluidly beside each other with a chemistry so pronounced all of our friends could see it. In fact, they encouraged it. And it wasn't safe but it was carefree and easy and that's what everything should be like right now. Right?
As the night went on and the truth poured from his lips, that was when I knew- everything I had come to know and love I was about to give up.
Maybe before that night I already did.
Maybe it was the serious conversation you and I had the day before that left me drained and conflicted, a feeling I wore like a mask the hours that followed. Maybe it was the idea that you might lose a roof over your head, or that you loved me, or more than anything else that I loved you. Maybe it was the concept of our future and how serious the present had already become.
Whatever it was, I was already running.
Now one week later, the rain is falling from a dark sky, my mother is in Atlanta, the cats veins are filling with flea poison, Muriel is stubborn and Joe is oblivious, the coffee is even stronger, he is behind bars, and you- I don't know where you are. You're somewhere sunbathing. And me? I don't know where I'm at either.
But Gainesville is still constantly beautiful. My friends are still the bee's knees. Mars is still my foundation and everyone else's home away from home. The nights are ending when the sun is up and the heat is calling all of its friends to warm up our days. Songs on the radio continue to sing about love and I continue to ignore them. The beer stays the same but the drinks are getting stronger. And each time someone asks me to join them at the pool, I hear summer calling.
After the past week where my life did a 360 degree flip, I'm realizing only summer could allow such events to happen without guilt settling in.
The seasons change the way natural disasters take place- there is nothing you can do about it, it's going to happen anyway.
You just have to see the beauty in them.
