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✨ Another sleepless
night trapped in my
own fucking mind.✨
--- *** --- --- Later that Day ---
Hours after hours, elapsing after one another together and boding every advancing hour from the day-and-night episode, the heavy rain hasn't even ebbed out in the small city of Massachusetts.
The gloominess of the weather was equalizing the ambitious Monsignor and your homesickness and the scarce delightful wish to depart from one another even though your arranged release was a fact sooner than later.
Even when the British compatriot tried his best meticulously getting you out of his mind once you were out of his sight with tasking himself with collaborating with Sister Jude and Sister Mary Eunice and visiting certain sites where his presence was obligation, the intensifying, everlasting hurricane of thoughts balefully contaminated to imprint timelessly.
Wrenching his sheer pride and sacrifice to behold the genuine pattern of mirth donning your lips after giving you the farewell present for your Briarcliff leave, the vivid memories of your smile, your dainty fingers curling around the single rose's handle and your flattered words, severely touched with stark gratitude and were eroding smoothly, finely.
Just when the holy man got back to Briarcliff in the wee hours of the evening after visiting certain places and stilling his hands on the steering wheel of his jet black cab, thereafter the tiresome buzzing of car engine halted in a stop and the heavy rian slapping roughly the windshield of the cab when he was picking up his own suitcase and hopped out of the car by locking it without thinking twice.
As soon as his tall figure was starkly exposed to the natural phenomenon and devouring God's bitter, unattractively sultry tears of despondence drenching his conservatively wool attires of clergy, subsequently he dashed to the madhouse's stone massive without turning back to his vehicle once again until generous layer of moisture baptized him, coating his attires, chestnut hair and milky skin tone with bitter staining-wetness, drumming monotonously until he towered effortlessly, ruthlessly the massive.
Even when the rain has played its own cards right to drench with modicum of God's undeniable sorrow, fertilizing the plants and nature to flourish into something they're going to escalate with their maturity, at least, the British aristocrat was beyond relieved and sensed modicum of christening even when his body temperature opted to bear the wetness, ominously menacing his flu and health condition to diminish its own healthy percentage with weaker body temperature and affecting certain prominent body parts.
