Bipolar as a weather event
Let me put it this way:
Remember when we drove nine hours to the desert, starving for stars and the sound of nothing at
all? All that milky light pouring over your face, the awe of a sky so big that it felt like we were
falling into its shrieking mouth.
How we drove home a few days later, only for a tornado to hit. You, hiding in the hallway with
our cat, having an emergency without me. At work, I kept imagining the downed power lines
surrounding our home. The fences in the trees. The trees through windows.
The roof ripped off. How the stars would fixate on your anxious face as I drank them in,
starving, drunk on the same sky that swallowed us whole.
