They said it was going to thunderstorm today. Instead, it just rained.
I miss the thunderstorms every afternoon, like clockwork. Thunderstorms didn’t happen much where I was from and they scared me.
You’d hold me and tell me that it was okay, that the thunder couldn’t hurt me
Eventually, I wasn’t scared anymore and grew to love watching the lightning.
Eventually, the storms got annoying and all they meant was wet roads and loud noises.
Not long before I left, we stood on the porch in the pouring rain, smoking a cigarette, and watching the lightning. Our friends were there too but all I can remember was you standing behind me and holding onto my waist and telling me I should put my coat on.
I didn’t want to. I liked the feel of the rain on my skin and the feel of my hair getting more and more damp by the minute. It had been so long since I had taken the time to enjoy this.
“You’ll get sick.” You said.
I finished my cigarette, got my coat, and came back outside.
I can’t help but remember this was the last Spirit I smoked. It was the last thunderstorm I was in. It was the last time I relaxed and let go of everything. Looking back, this is the last time I was really happy.
When I heard that it was supposed to thunderstorm tonight on the radio this morning, I was so excited. I wanted to go back to that night, even if it hurt later on.
But it didn’t.
I can’t help but see the irony in this.
I was always hoping so much for us.
We were beautiful and frightening at first, like the daily storms.
Then we were beautiful, the fear had gone.
Then we were just a daily nuisance, nothing but a loud, messy drain on the days of others.
For one night, just before the storms stopped for me, we were beautiful again.
Now there’s no storms.
Just rain and sometimes a glimmer of hope for a storm.
But it doesn’t storm.
Even if it did, it could never be the same, because I’ve learned that the thunder can hurt me.