hearing the thunder reminds me of each time my dad would hit my mom when i was seven.
hearing the rain fall reminds me of every tear she ever cried, after my dad was drunk asleep and we were tucked in.
you always wondered why i flinched at thunderstorms.
hearing the thunder reminds me of all the screams ive screamed in my bathroom floor.
hearing the rain reminds me of the time my mom walked in and rushed me to emergency room, because "tubs were made for bathing yourself, not drowning," the doctor said.
you always wondered why i flinched at thunderstorms.
hearing the thunder reminds of that
feeling i got when i walked into that buffet
and you were sitting with your ex
but told me you had to work.
hearing the rain reminds me of every night i stayed up trying figuring out why i couldn't make you stay.
you always wondered why i flinched at thunderstorms.