My mood is one that defies expression in coherent, English words.
It looks at the alphabet and growls, unintelligible.
It's all sound and fury, signifying nothing though. Growls, snaps and snarls to distract, to cover, and to protect what's beneath.
Questions, hurt, and impatience roil beneath the surface. A maelstrom of a cocktail, waiting, always waiting. Blessedly, they are not the same questions as they've been before. They've changed, grown and shifted along with the faultlines from the ever-long year.
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