I find it hard to inhale sometimes;
Tough to wake up, too tired to move.
It’s so quiet so much of the time.
It’s like I’m lying in a dark room at night,
and the wind is blowing harder than ever before outside my door, but it makes no noise.
I see shadows of uprooted trees across my window,
everything is moving all at once and all without me.
All alone with such an odd immunity of the entire world.
And it’s still so silent so much of the time.
Somehow, I’m alright. I’m not afraid.
Like there’s a small candle on the floor, flickering at the end my dark corridor.
As small as it is, as weak as its glow may seem,
even though I can’t hold its light in my hands,
It’s worth a smile.
It manages to make the wind alright, and the dark a wee bit more light.
& I’m not afraid.
It’s my mustard seed.
