When I write, my room rains. It's a thunderstorm of dust, rocks, mud, and water pounding into the paper. Thousands of raindrops burst from the ceiling and plummet to the floor, the desk - every surface there is. They all fall, and by the end of it, my skin is soaked in water and my hair is dripping with words. Every drop is a thought that dances in my mind.
A true thunderstorm passes when I write in my room.