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You cried, you yelled. I could not hear, this morning I left for the mountains, I did not hear a thing, a sound, a pin. then from the cloud, a passenger of rage shot down at me full speed, piercing and roaring, with a message of its own. I could not figure it out, i did not hear. I stayed on my path beneath that same old cloud till another - but this time, a fist of sorrow struck me right there on my cheek. got me good too, it hurt, still, I did not hear. I started to run, up the hill, escaping the cold was my safe, resort, but as i ran the storm grew darker, and the thickest rock let out the loudest cry in all of Scotland. My ears rang and my hair shot up, I felt its rage land all over my body as my face went red, like the raft within the rain’s own flames, like fire from the earth’s core. They've a million voices at once, of the same pitch, the same harsh yet soft rhythm of yours, jarred, and you muffle sonnets of hatred I thought you wrote, deja vu. till suddenly, the rain that trickled from my head streaming down my eyes, and made a fountain of your face before mine. and then i knew it was you, your cries at me, riverside thorns, were not a curse, but warnings of love. though cold and drowning, they were forgiving, and for the first time, I heard, completely. And of that, I came running back home, and fell at your knees, and listened to your voice thread a thousand stories, that bathed my blessed ears.
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Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 8:30 AM UTC
Quillnote
Rain's crescendo
You cried, you yelled. I could not hear, this morning I left for the mountains, I did not hear a thing, a sound, a pin. then from the cloud, a passenger of rage shot down at me full speed, piercing and roaring, with a message of its own. I could not figure it out, i did not hear. I stayed on my path beneath that same old cloud till another - but this time, a fist of sorrow struck me right there on my cheek. got me good too, it hurt, still, I did not hear. I started to run, up the hill, escaping the cold was my safe, resort, but as i ran the storm grew darker, and the thickest rock let out the loudest cry in all of Scotland. My ears rang and my hair shot up, I felt its rage land all over my body as my face went red, like the raft within the rain’s own flames, like fire from the earth’s core. They've a million voices at once, of the same pitch, the same harsh yet soft rhythm of yours, jarred, and you muffle sonnets of hatred I thought you wrote, deja vu. till suddenly, the rain that trickled from my head streaming down my eyes, and made a fountain of your face before mine. and then i knew it was you, your cries at me, riverside thorns, were not a curse, but warnings of love. though cold and drowning, they were forgiving, and for the first time, I heard, completely. And of that, I came running back home, and fell at your knees, and listened to your voice thread a thousand stories, that bathed my blessed ears.
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