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Rainclouds

You’re walking around with rain clouds on your shoulders. You’ve asked me to ignore them, so though they’re roaring with fresh thunder, I do as I’m told and read out old forecasts from clearer skies. When you meet my eyes a stray bolt flies and cracks over my head, I flinch, the storm starts to spread and when I point out that the wind’s growing stronger you say it’s my fault for asking what’s wrong. And then you’re gone, tracking puddles behind a closed door, I sigh, sop up the wet floor and wonder if there’s more thunder in store for this afternoon. But when you come out of your room, hair sticking to your temples, you’re just a gentle drizzle of a person and I realize the worst is over. “I’m tired.” You say in late October, when showers are growing colder, stiller, every hour. “It’s okay.” I echo back, pull on a jacket as the flurries start to form. Another season of grief, another stage of this storm. There’s no true relief I can offer so I let you borrow a sweater instead, wait it out for now until we start seeing better weather, until the clouds part in your head.

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tasslyn
Dec 11, 2022
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