FEEL

1. Chryslism

Chrysalism~ the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

The sky puts on a show today. A rather dramatic performance that accentuates the misery of a rotting heart. The clouds had begun the exposition days ago, so surreptitiously, so smoothly that they went unnoticed. Little by little, they carried tiny particles of gas and bottled them within their confines, a subtle rising action that would lead to the upcoming peak. This conveys to the audience how one would do the same to their own drear, knowingly or unknowingly.

The sun created the illusion of an unbothered day the same as our smiles nurture the mirage of a rapturous demeanor while our hearts ripped apart in our chest. Simultaneously, the wind had held back its howl just like an individual would hold back their hammering rage when it ached to burst out. It was part of the show, the audience knew.

Yet still, the viewers were ever so shocked when thunder broke its first clap of fury, signifying the start of the most confounding climax. Further appalled were they when the clouds suddenly unleashed their cries, quieter than their desperate protests but louder than their tormenting pleas. The subsequent splatter of raindrops crashing onto the ground and pelting on our windows was what drove the plot towards the denouement.

Because after all of that, it was quiet. This bittersweet ending left room for the audience to present their assumptions on what that silence meant.

Finally, some peace, would be one meaning. When the noise is all over, when you've finally let it out, it feels almost surreal. Like big breath of relief.

The worst has only begun, could be the other. The least fortunate would come to this conclusion. When they realize that there is no point in pouring the rain down or banging onto the sky so loud that everyone can hear it because nobody will care. And nobody can help. Just be quiet. There is worst to come.

Depite this, it's a spectacular performance. I look out my window and can't help but think of how beautifully coordinated it was. Whoever the director was, be it a man in the sky or mother nature, must be so proud of their work. They must be saddened, too, that not everyone appreciates it.

My camera is set right by my window, capturing the gloomy natural art in its element. I don't record all rainy days, just this one specifically. After moving here just a few months ago, I quite fell in love with the large window in my room that was a few feet in front of my bed, overlooking the entire neighborhood you were .

My bedroom didn't consist of much character, just a bed, nightstand, dresser and closet. I've never been one to adorn my rooms with personality. We move around a lot and I have the feeling this living situation is temporary as well. It almost saddens me, to have to leave behind such a beautiful view.

My books are scattered across the bed, all the homework I need to catch up with my new school's syllabus. I had been there all of last week, it's a dreadful place with hateful people. They're all like actors who are just starring in the film for the money. No effort, no desire to do more than is instructed to them. Getting it over and done with as soon as possible. A miserable bunch.

A glance towards my window is what draws me outside that day. It might be odd to most, to be drawn outside by a vicious downpour of rain rather than the radiant shine of the sun. It was not only the sight of it, but the thoughts that it induced that beckoned me to the conflicted outdoors. That, and the urge to see more.