rain.
Sometimes you sit, and wait, as if something will change or if something will burst or move or your life will flash before the eyes of those you know. And yet, in the spare moments where water seems to fall from the heavens, it either becomes a place for your eyes to dance and praise the sky’s themselves, or to weep among the tears of the gods they fell from. There’s something about rain, the act itself, the falling, the desperation, the flooding. It all sparks this immense feeling of. Of something being more than what we had before. Is the rain something that falls on your skin and makes you dance a bit more, or, is it something that falls upon your skin and makes you run for the door. If we are to assume the livelihood of any magical moment is sparse and only happens in the times that the realms of the unknown and our own realm cross over, is rain just the veil being pulled in one direction? Is the veil of inspiration falling as the rain darts across the night sky and thunder billows its name and lightning flashes these sparks, these tense moments of desperation. The rain falls and the lightning strikes as we sit here, laying in bed, typing away, hoping that the veil will be torn so that something floods our systems of thoughts of life itself, just as the rain will flood the ground beneath. Yet I sit up in bed, writing, wishing I could be dancing in the rain one last time, for the veil to be ripped out from above or wherever it holds its place.
put on the first 3 seconds of sleep well by d4vd and then read it. thats at least how i wrote it ig.
