Free Writing.

I'm out of breath, and out of words, and every building annex is a quiet escape from the tornadoes. The past fourteen days have been like a speeding whirlpool in a deep, chaotic sea of colorless waves. Last night, especially, was when I felt it.

I was so quiet. So shy. So antisocial. I was worried of tying up my tongue, saying the wrong words. Blushing like warm summer tomatoes. And so I sat, eating dinner, four little children at the table to my right, and seven others laughing and reminiscing. I was silent, blue eyes staring at my plate. The little pieces of mango and black beans. I watched a lonely fly cling to the white cotton oxford next to me. The little guy, starved for attention. And then I thought to myself, I am feeling sorry for this little fly, and I should be contributing to the conversation at hand, or shooing it away at least. But I couldn't, I couldn't think of one thing to say. My introvert personality crowding my thoughts. I wish that I didn't get like this, at times. 

I'm excited for the upcoming week, however. Silence and bare shoulders and scabbed knees and bristle cone pines. Ten or fifteen flashing lights, like healthy comets, focusing and refocusing and delicately learning. Insanely high altitude, and my blonde hair whipping around my lips and tangling in my lashes. A different setting, a different lifestyle, if only for four or five days. And now I'm home, finally home from the busy weekend and the busy dinners. My home away from home, for a few more hours, before I leave for the city again. Writing, and tracing mosaic shapes on the furniture, and talking to my mother about which classes I should be taking, and trying to find my textbooks online. And I'm in a good place right now, even with all of these natural disasters of hearts raging around me, with everyone I know clinging to the trenches. I'm bringing the colors back. The hues are returning, I'm feeling better.