top of page

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.
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...
bottom of page