As the wind howls around me, I stand outside in the rain, hoping that somehow, it might actually wash away my sorrow.
Safely sitting inside, the sound of the rain on the roof had always made me feel safe, with a rhythm as steady as the beating of my heart.
But here, outside, the entirety of the storm hits me with all its might. A force necessary to drown out the storm raging inside of me. And for a moment, a short fleeting moment, it seems like it actually works.
I should've known it wouldn't, not really. Sorrow and pain don't operate that way. They have to be tended to, cared for, not washed away by a heavy downpour.
And so that's what I do. I go back inside, allowing myself to dry, to heal.
The smell of petrichor still clings to me.
Author's note: My entry for Week 6 of Flash! at YA.
