I am not a rock. Though sometimes I feel like a stone. I work in IT. One of those rare professions the longer I work in it, the less I seem to know. My husband, on the other hand (bless him), seems to know everything. He is more like a mountain than a rock.
Yesterday I had a particularly harsh day. My husband last night stepped in to try and shed some light into my darkness. Until he finally turned to me and declared, you’re doing that weird thing with your hair again. Yeah, I’m twisting it instead of pulling it out (that happens too!) Can I go write some poetry now? Because passion.

Bubble Dreams coming up!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “I Am a Rock.”