Tempest

There it is.

I remember this feeling. I remember this waning whisper, a warning perhaps, I remember how I thought it was a whistle, whisking past my ears. I remember how I liked that feeling.

I remember watching the rain drop, at first slowly, then tumultuous. I remember this strange yet comforting smell when the rain touches the soil, as if they were always meant to find each other. I remember how I liked that feeling.

Yet I remember shivering in the rain, flashes and roars accompanying the turbulent sky. I thought I’d find solace in the eye. I couldn’t.

I am sorry.

I’m sorry that you were willing to brave the storm for me, I’m sorry that I’m too afraid of the rain, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t be as brave as you thought I’d be.

I’m sorry I can never get to show you the rainbow at the end of it all.

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