night three

as the thunder rolls across my 

windowpanes, i'm reminded of

the time you told me how much

you like thunderstorms. you

love how they feel so boundless, 

free, and powerful. how the 

electricity in the air coupled 

with the icy raindrops hitting 

your skin makes you feel alive.

i suppose you were a thunderstorm

in a way. dark and brooding, but

flashes of energy would spark 

out of your lips, leaving a charred, 

but somehow pleasant taste in

the air. you were my thunderstorm, 

for a while at least. i guess i was

never more than a drizzle to you.