The Emotional Hangover

Jumping back into the blog water with some writing prompts.

Today’s pick comes to us courtesy of ThinkWritten.com (and if it inspires some connection of words in your mind, please consider sharing in the comments below – linking to a post of your own inspired by it is okay too – but know that I review all comments and spammy ones are tossed).

And with that, today’s prompt is:

Outside the Window: What’s the weather outside your window doing right now? If that’s not inspiring, what’s the weather like somewhere you wish you could be?

The air outside was thick and dense, oddly cloying. It clung to my skin and filled my nostrils with the musty scents of wet moss and decomposing leaves. Drops of water falling from the tree limbs above as the squirrels hop from one to another, as they do every morning, splashing into the small puddles on the porch floor.

Last night was stormy. And not just in terms of the weather. As the clouds unleashed their burdens upon the earth, so my brain did the same. Whirling, swirling tornadoes of uncontrollable thoughts and fears releasing through tears that streamed down my face, soaking my pillow. Pounding against the roof and the sides of the house, the storm outside seemed to echo the same within my head. Beating me. Cleansing me, perhaps.

I stood in the doorway and sipped my coffee slowly. It was hot. Little swirls of steam danced just below the rim. My fingertips lightly drummed the side of the mug while I contemplated the state of emotional hangover that was not only mine, but seemingly the rest of the world’s too.

Later today, when the clouds break and the sun reaches through to dry up the mess, it will be as though it never even happened. But it did happen. I heard it. I felt it. I lived it.

My head was throbbing. My eyes were swollen.

I stepped back and closed the door. I wasn’t ready yet.

Maybe when the sun arrived.

Advertisements

Your thoughts, comments or suggestions are always appreciated!

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: