Perception Spring 2023

Weather Patterns of the Anxious Mind
Gray Reed
I’m sorry I can’t come over tonight to sit on your floor and drink
the unimaginable like we did when we were young. When we
would sprawl on your hardwood and stare into the infinite universe
expanding across your popcorn ceiling– reminiscing on our destinies
as if the future lay behind us.
I’m sorry I can’t come over tonight; it’s just the wind has started to
grow again. It started as a single hum on the streets behind my train
of thought but now has picked up into a lone, desperate howl.
I’m sorry I can’t come over tonight, even though you asked so nicely.
You asked with such a nature even bees would cease to sting. You
invited me over with the purest of intentions, and I’m sorry I must
decline but the wind is getting louder and I don’t want it to drown
you out. I can’t let it drown you out.
Forgive me for staying home tonight. For burying myself in the nest
that is my bed and staring at my ceiling instead of your own from
paneled floors. For listening to the wind instead of the tracks you
would have played to inspire us to paint our bare walls a shimmering
gold. For allowing myself to drown so I can throw you a life preserver
from afar.
I’ll come over next time, I promise. We just need to let the weather
run its course. I promise.
34 | Perception
in the dream house
Bailee Roberts | Digital
Spring 2023 | 35