Just like animals can predict a storm or an earthquake… I predicted our imminent demise. A storm came. Destroyed all I knew. I woke up and lives weren’t lost, but they may as well have. That’s what it feels like. Someone strangling out your very last breath. Like being disemboweled.. gutted. But not literally. The pain is not of the flesh. It’s of the soul. These wounds take far longer to heal and often leave scars that show behind my eyes right before I feel that emptiness take over. The numb. Cannot feel no matter how hard i try. Until that twister swirls back around and destroys my homestead again. So i take shelter. Hide in the cellar until I’m sure that it’s safe to resurface. But it’s never safe when you live in tornado alley…. I hope this silence is the calm before the storm. Because I think I would rather die in your eye than live in the path of your destruction. You were the tornado in that dream. You’re the storm that destroyed everything. But I’m still anxiously waiting to hear the storm sirens howling. With the hopes that I might get a glimpse of you while you tear through my life again.