The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.

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36. Storms

The storm clouds in the sky expressed their anger by rumbling, louder and louder every half minute.

The rumbling anger shook my house ever so slightly, enough though that I could feel it in my fingertips.

Raindrops threatened to fall down and greet the crumbling pavement, but it never did.

The clouds became darker and darker throughout the day, and the rumbling never stopped.

That rumbling anger stayed in the back of my mind, and it became drilled in the silence of my mind.

At one point, the sun almost came to peek through the dark exterior, but the darkness forced back what little rays of sunshine could have shown.

It was night, finally, and in less than a second, the downpour started, and it never stopped.

I looked at this scene, and decided that the sky and I were the same.

I always tried to hold the tears in, getting angry and lashing out at the ones who tried to comfort me.

I pushed them away because I didn’t think being happy on the verge of tears would take what was wrong away.

When everyone was away, the flood of tears cascaded down my cheeks, wetting my duvet and pillowcase for hours.

The rain and I are very much the same, in the way that we conceal the storm that truly awaits, trying to not broadcast the weather ahead, but people can always tell.

 

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