it's always ourselves we find in the sea
wuthering heights stormy nights recently it feels like ten thousand nights of thunder thrown all back to me in all its darkness, dampness and noise. i would like to see ten thousand nights of thunder in the way that is cinematic; like through a window or on a bench under a void deck, where there is a distance and where there is a toggle to the slideshow so i can actually appreciate its might and wonder. i would like to imagine putting a finger to the sky and see a bolt be cast as if i were zeus himself and assume solitude to be empowering.
but these dark, damp and noisy ten thousand nights of thunder are uncontrollable, incessant and blinding. i feel like i am caught in an electrical storm under a black cherry tree, shivering as the tree quivers and shakes, watching each black bead drop like bombshells and wither like tears. under this tree i am alone, and it does not feel good. i would like many things like a jacket and a wide cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in it, but then at once i picture dirt and ash falling into the cup and immediately i am disgusted from the thought.
i feel my tenses being all twined up into a knot, and then pulled to breaking point. now i am a broken sentence, bad english and poor vocabulary. i am a convoluted creation of adjectives and adverbs and i are on the running like an mountain goats. i hope by the end of the month i can find myself atop a grey hill peaked with leafy green short grass, cast upon a deep blue sky and shapey clouds and that for once in ten thousand nights it will feel like day, and that i may once again feel naïve.