You know the feeling.
You walk outside right before a storm. The air is warm – almost stuffy – and tense. Something needs a release, and time is running out.
There’s heat, sure – but is it the good kind? Or is it suffocating?
Thunder rolls in the distance, and you know it won’t be long now.
Just a few more humid breaths.
And then –
What I’m saying, dear, is you’re the storm.
And I don’t know what’s worse.
This bloated moment as I wait for you to rumble through.
Or watching you break.