Week Thirty Three

Spark

"How many fates turnaround in the overtime? Ballerinas have fins that you'll never find."
-Tori Amos, Spark

You want to stick a giant middle finger to the sky and hurl insults to whichever chosen deity you're worshipping that week. How could they do this? How could they bring so much pain? Because this? This is unfair. This isn't right. This isn't how things are supposed to go. 

I look for the symphony in the chaos. Something that ties it altogether and brings harmony to the unending nothingness. The religious will claim I'm looking for God. But what I think I'm really looking for is someone or something to blame. Something that can take the brunt force of hurt and leave me only slightly bruised. 

And I know, deep in my heart, that nothing will answer. There will be no response. Because this pain is temporary. Heart-breaking, sure. But brief and fleeting. And when measured as a whole with the culmination of my incredibly privileged life, this is a speed bump. A quickly fading bruise on an otherwise perfect apple.