The Loneliness of the Tortured Soul.

I was once standing looking at the sky. It was black and brooding, almost malevolent. But nontheless, it was coming. The storm.

The storm within me was begining its climb, from my gut to my chest, an ever increasing tightness, fusing with the awful collection of thoughts, that seem to collude to increase its emotional power!

My mind was in numbness, waiting for the inevitability of it all. Then the shaking in anger, the tenseness of each muscle, the helplessness of what will happen. The scream that never comes, the shout that is never heard. At that time in my life, I was suffering intense turmoil, the result of a physical trauma.

I have screamed, many times. There was never anyone there, suffice to say, that when I, after many sufferings of the soul, found my whisper, it was not the friends I found there, it was myself.

He had been missing for sometime, but, he had changed, and that change carried with it the new life he sought. Looking back now, I am glad it all happened, I am more able to be human, and understand.

I was lucky, very lucky, some suffer forever, without hope. I had hope, and she came in the form of a horse.

(Thanks Valance!)