There's
something about storms that calms my heart. This year, the sun has been too
much, too constant, it just felt like it’s constantly pressing against my skin,
urging me to smile when I didn’t have the strength, to glow when all I wanted was
to disappear into the shade. But this week, the sky finally broke. Heavy
clouds rolled in, swallowing the light, and the air grew thick with the promise
of rain. When the first drop landed, I felt my shoulders loosen for the first
time in months.
The
storm came alive slowly, the wind whistling through the cracks of the windows,
leaves thrashing like they were tired of holding on. Then the rain fell harder,
hitting the ground with the rhythm that felt like a heartbeat I could rest against.
The thunder rumbled low, like someone finally saying that they’ve been holding
in for too long too. I sat there, watching the water streak down the glass, and
realized I wasn’t thinking about anything, I was simply admiring the storm.
I wasn’t
expecting myself to shine, I am able to let my chest feel heavy. I can let the
wind howl and the rain spill without putting on that mask. It’s just me with
the raw, unfiltered truth of a sky that’s finally allowed to break. And maybe
that’s why the storm has always brought me peace, it reminds me that there’s
beauty in falling apart, and a strange kind of comfort knowing the sun doesn’t
have to shine every day.