I was blinded by your shining light when I first glanced at you, and I mistook you for the sun. It never occurred to me that you weren’t the sun, only the clouds that the sun tries so hard to get ahead of. Somehow, you always overtook the sky with your gloom. Most people hate when it rains, they hate the thunder, the lightning, but I found peace in your wrath, and maybe that was my mistake. You aren’t the delicate drizzle that my tongue sticks out to catch. You aren’t the soft breeze on a cloudy day and you're not the scattered clouds that form dinosaurs and dragons in my mind, you’re the thunder. You’re the thunder that screams so loudly you can’t hear your own voice. You’re the hail. The hail that shatters car windows and forces you to stay away until it passes. You aren’t the rain I stare at the fall of. You’re the monsoon that swallows me whole. You engulf me in your promises until I’ve been consumed neck deep and you drown me in your apologies until I’m gasping for air. And I can’t seem to make out if I want to keep afloat, or if I would rather die of the thirst. When I first saw you, I was mesmerized by the person I thought you were. I saw your beauty when others called me blind. To me, you were the rainbow after a hurricane. I can see the sky clearer now. You’re not the delicate ice that builds snow angels, you’re the avalanche that kills.

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