where the writers are
December Storm

When she cries, she weeps openly.  It’s not the kind of cry that hurts when you bruise yourself nor is it a typical cry from anger or frustration.

It’s the kind of quiet weeping that’s internally deep and lonely.  Gentle sobs, piercingly intense.

When asked if everything is okay, she lets go and shares her pain.  I listen and try to find the root of her sorrows.

It’s not an unusual story yet her emotions run so deep that they tell me otherwise. 


The other one cries in silence.  Curled up like a fetus inside a mother’s womb, she weeps uncontrollably but quietly.

Disappointment hits rock bottom and rejection reduces her to isolation trapped inside of her.

Her pain internalized, she remains withdrawn yet tears flow down her cheeks like a river in rage.


I sit in silence embracing their pain.  I choke behind closed doors holding back my tears.  This is a journey they must trek for growth and higher learning.

Meanwhile, I stand close by loving them.