Whirling always seems forever.

In the storm,

Tossed about,

Pelted and soaked and battered,

It always feels like the storm will never end.

No matter how many storms I ride to the end,

No matter how long I wait,

Or fight,

The storm always reaches past the limit of my patience

So that

This storm,

This one,

The one of the present,

This is the one,

The unending storm.


It ends.

I recover.

I rebuild.

I rest.

When I fight the storm

I end up stronger than I was.

When I surrender to the wind and rain

I end up damaged.

If I’m stronger I push ahead

And move forward.

If I’m damaged I try frantically to just get back to zero

Before the next one.

There is always another storm,

But, there is always an ending as well.

Whirling never lasts forever.


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