Overwhelm

Eventually, I leave the house. My intended destination is Muse Cafe, where raconteurs are spinning their yarns tonight. Within a block, my own stories gather. I walk and walk. As friends call, I talk. I never reach Muse.  Meanwhile, stories wash over in waves.

"This Glorious Sadness" by Anne-Julie Aubry

A sad night. Searching Etsy, I found the above image. (Although, I fight myself, "My goodness, Woman!  Are you twelve?  A gothic emo adolescent, what are you?!"   I think that voice deserves stifling.  I identify with the image, today.  And, it is so.) Also while the imagery doesn't quite fit, I appreciate the words scrawled across, a piece by Kate Westfall,"Cry out the armies in your eyes. This battle doesn't belong to you."