What Whirlwind Did You See

“What is it? Why is your hair a mess? Why are you crying? There is no whirlwind outside of your head.” She squeezed the inside of my arm with her little hands. Her little hands only understood how drawing was more fun than playing with a ball and that was simple enough. Why was my hair a mess? What war was there? Bombs and bombs and knives and threats. But outside no whirlwind. Just you, throwing yourself around.