Day 173: Soaked mornings

Rainy days ring in reflection. Perfect for when the weight of all that you carry in your heart, and the burden of heavy clouds on your shoulders bear down on you, pregnant with fettered incomplete thoughts. Shapeless words trickle, drops darting out too soon, before you can think them through. Truth crackles to life, searing through the sky with a mighty rumble in the sky, rudely interrupting a sluggish stupor. The sky get a wash. Momentarily, the view clears up. Just a little bit. It should be a time to ring in the new. A chance to paint a new picture. But things remain diffused, puddles of the present persist. Dragged out, taking their time to in a lethargic spell, caught between what is, and what could be – washed down. Wet, but unburdened.

 

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