the aftermath

the aftermath has been like riding a hurricane. the waves are too high, the winds are too strong, and we do little but to try not to be swept away. and we revolve with fear, hatred, despair. we revolve with a strong - and painful - sense of longing, of woe for what has been lost, and of illusions built in a rush to cover the cracks that cannot be covered or even mended. and what for? for nothing. and why? for something so small that in another circumstances it would have little impact - or it wouldn't have happened at all in the first place. but for weeks everything has been set into motion, in such a subtle way that we could see that something was coming, and yet we were unable to see what it was. and we held and we held, until the last drop has finally fallen to blow it all away. what remains is a terrible sense of waste, of loss, of seeing everything breaking apart in such a silly way.