I see a flower glistening in the distance.
The light reflects off it in a way I can only describe as ethereal.
In the haze of the light,
I see my future;
my hope,
my self worth.
Like a foolish child, I run towards it.
As I take a step, a light drop of water falls onto me.
The farther I go, the harder the rain pounds until I can no longer hear my own footsteps.
The anger of the storm is overwhelming.
It’s all I see.
It’s all I hear.
As the thunder strikes it binds me to the cold and unforgiving storm.
My eyes flit to those around me who have found their way out.
A serene field awaited them beyond the dark clouds,
a refuge.
But this field of nightmares is all I’ve ever known.
The thunder screams around me,
consumes my will to fight.
It tightens a noose around my neck,
binds my wrists behind my back.
Why must it affect me in ways it does not others?
“I have to let it all go”
“I have to learn,
to breath,
to live.”
But the pounding rain that stings my eyes
is forever a rush that I will crave.
One that I will always give in to.
One that I will always run back to.
One that will never change.
Spring brings me false hope.
It will never bring me flowers.