Rain – moisture condensed from the atmosphere that falls visibly in separate drops to Earth; the act of rain falling; to deal, hurl or fire repeatedly; to send down in great quantities.

As I lay under the covers, feeling pressed down into the bed from an invisible force, more than gravity, I hear the thunderstorms and flashes of lightning through the curtains. The pressure on my chest matches the stormy atmosphere. The weight is words that need to be spoken but are not. Words that my mind is speaking now but my mouth can’t seem to speak and make public. Tears roll down my face. I can smell the rain in tune. If it was possible for feelings to paint the weather, then I’d think I made this rainstorm. His state, there snuggled up under the covers so comfortable is clearly responsible for the clouds. He doesn’t see the rain or the lightning, or at least pretends not to just as he does with the weight pushing down on me from the unspoken. He can’t be content with how things are yet he floats around in a blur of microscopic water vapor hovering around in oblivion while I’m crashing, electrified through the anxiety-ridden air and crying softly, able to hear the pit pats of droplets on my pillow in synch with the window’s music of the night.



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