Petrichor

Vihm.

The only thing you can relate yourself to the most is the rain.

The clouds, thunder-everything that comes with it.

It's easy to predict the rain. The hot, gloomy, humid weather it creates, when not a single leaf moves, when the air screams in silence, and the weight of the clouds is felt by everyone. That's when the rain strikes. Usually, bursting forth without any notice. It keeps on raining, pouring everything out, carrying down with it the dust particles and various other pathetic emotions left hanging in the air.

Then there's the lightning. Ripping through the sky, piercing the clouds. And the thunder it brings along, reverberating in our ears, petrifying us at times.

That's exactly what it feels like.

Because when you slowly feel the shadow of worthlessness weighing you down in silence, pushing you lower to the ground, the ugly thoughts empowering your rational mind, the ever faltering smile trying to stay in place, you notice that there's a point up to which you can actually hold on to, till it gets unbearable. That it's getting too suffocating, and your lungs have been fruitlessly screaming for days.

"Even the rain bursts out, so why not me? "

They pool near your chin, and trickle down your throat. Your eyes slam shut, letting them ooze out slowly, in huge hot drops. Then the whacking sobs set in, churning your stomach, threatening to turn your insides out. They don't stop, and neither does the rain. Beating against the window panes, mimicking the rhythm of your racing heart. Running down your face, they clear the dirt and the grief away.

And then you can't seem to stop. The lightning strikes across your wrists, creating patterns, the thunder echoing your screams. The pain feels like the fresh dew of the morning lawn, calming the cyclone of last night. Your breathing becomes unsteady, exactly like the soft breeze after the rain, when they're not sure if the sky is yet to get over its pains.

The rain cools everything down, to the point where you shiver enough to put on a sweater. Covering yourself up, breathing in the soft smell of the mud, welcoming the warm rays pouring out of your heart's sun.

And that's the best thing. Because under the sweaters and the blue happy skies, nobody remembers the lightning anymore.

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[A/N]
Hi!
As I've already mentioned before, these are not from my personal experiences. And since, I've not mentioned any particular name or even a pronoun, it can be read from either POV's.

Also, please note that this is just a piece of writing. I'm in no way promoting self-harm or anything of that sort. That's a very bad thing, and there are other ways out than marking your wrists.

Thank you for reading my book. :D
Don't forget to vote and share!
So, yeah. Happy reading!

P.S. 'Vihm' is Estonian for rain :3