Would you miss me in the morning? When stars have died and angels have cried. Would you look upon the impression I have left and wonder where I went? What I was doing or who I was seeing?
I turn within. Turning as I turn about. I hesitate for a second as my fingers caress a sweet goodbye. A knob needing to be turned by my turning life. Turning within as we begin again, a dance in the night. I struggle with the need to remain in the present as my mind drifts to the past. An answered past at last.
You cannot befriend a storm. You can simply appreciate its existence before it ceases to exist. I smile as hands of friendship reach out to the phantom of an arm I present. I turn within because I cannot live without. And yet each night I throw fire onto the bridges I have built. Watching them burn so beautifully in the night. Killing the obligations I see forming from within. I warm myself before that fire and realize everything is as it should be. A tornado has no friends. It simply is.