It’s like the universe understands what I’m feeling.
The thunder, roaring from the clouds, just in time to sing to my sobs. The lightning, capturing this very moment, and the same moment in different timelines. The rain, scattered all over the town, wailing with me. The wind, caressing my cheeks, and whispering to my ears to calm me down. The flood, rises higher, so does havoc.
This is my thunderstorm.
A tornado of words are swirling around my mind, knocking me out of my senses. A tsunami forming inside my heart, flooding my entire being; drowning me. And I cannot breathe. I cannot get myself to breathe for the life of me. I don’t want to breathe. I don’t want to breathe in without your scent which I haven’t for what feels like forever. And yet here I am, craving for it like my life depends on it.
This is my disaster.
This isn’t calm after the storm. I don’t think my calm will ever arrive. All that came my way were anger, attachment, and trust issues. And I think literal craziness is out to get me. Debris after debris, I start to fall apart and lose my mind.
This is my tragedy.
This is an unending series of my pointless and meaningless life where every version of myself fails miserably with love. Where every version of me is stuck in a loop where I love and lose people in different ways and in different intensities.
This is my apocalypse.
My fantasy has ended right before it even started. And I was the only one who could see the ruins. The dreams, the plans, and the promises were burning. And I wanted to burn with them. Because I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be the only one who watches it all burn to the ground. I’d rather gouge my eyes out than watch my fantasy slowly dying on me.
This is my fate.
This is what’s ought to happen. That no matter what I do, or how I do it, it all falls down to this. That it doesn’t matter if I do it right, or do it wrong. It doesn’t matter if I want it or not, because it all falls down to this. The end is always the same. The processes could be different but the ends are all the same and they’re all beyond my control.
I guess this is me.
I guess I’m bound to just make peace with losing these people, and the next. I guess I’m bound to build connections with them and them build life with other people. I guess I’m bound to just watch that happen while I’m left making peace with my thunderstorm. I guess me and these people aren’t bonded by science and faith.
We’re not bonded by love either.
I think we’re bonded by our past mistakes. Our could-have-beens. Our should-have-beens. Our almosts. Our little secrets. Our sins. Things that we couldn’t let go. Feelings that we couldn’t unfeel. Truths that we couldn’t admit. An almost love.
So I drink them all away, hoping it would help me think straight. Hoping it would wash the pain away. Hoping it would drown the noise from my thunderstorm. Hoping it would numb all of my senses. Hoping it would somehow help me learn how to swim through the flood of my thoughts.
But I still drown.
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