The wind is crazy. If I were to open my arms I'd fly away. My feathers would get soaked. The rain is slashing across all barriers. Clothes are held desperately by pincers. Pukkars. Clothespins! That's what they're called. Ah the water! The wind! My daughter outside talking a walk! She'll enjoy this.
I am splattered if I sit next to the window. I am worried about wasting my free time thinking about the rain. I feel obliged into being hyper productive in my laziness and funness. My chai is not coming to a boil fast enough. I have to rush on. Find the next thing to do. The next thing to write, to read, to watch. The madness of the weather keeping time with my breathing, rushing.
Something meaningful keeps nagging me in the corners of my mind. Something waiting to be written about. Like the sudden silences within this storm, so quiet and loud and then gone. What is it? I feel the need to pray.
I am splattered if I sit next to the window. I am worried about wasting my free time thinking about the rain. I feel obliged into being hyper productive in my laziness and funness. My chai is not coming to a boil fast enough. I have to rush on. Find the next thing to do. The next thing to write, to read, to watch. The madness of the weather keeping time with my breathing, rushing.
Something meaningful keeps nagging me in the corners of my mind. Something waiting to be written about. Like the sudden silences within this storm, so quiet and loud and then gone. What is it? I feel the need to pray.
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