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The Silent Storm

I check the weather app— cloudy.  I stuff my bag with supplies in preparation: two jackets, an umbrella, and a spare, just in case.  I brace for a deluge, imagining the streets flooded.  Each puddle, a metaphor for my fears.  Clouds loom like ominous thoughts, swirling.  The wind whispers warnings that never arrive.  And I huddle, half-drenched in the water of my  worries, waiting for a storm that won't even break.  In the corner of my mind shadows dance,  while the sun peeks out— laughter in its rays.

The Silent Storm

I check the weather app— cloudy.  I stuff my bag with supplies in preparation: two jackets, an umbrella, and a spare, just in case.  I...

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