I like the sound of thunder. It makes me less alone. The rain on my face feels like the cold touch of love I've yearned for but never got. Now I'm standing in the storm, hoping to get a cold, that will make me never wish for it again. I want the rain to burn my skin, so the next day I could breathe free from all that weighed down my heart. I hold my head up in vain because still, I feel nothing, but pain. It explodes, in a silent harmony of dry tears. I fall to my knees and cry, but no tears ever reach my eye. The knife twists in my heart. And I scream without a sound, hoping someone would hear, but only the thunder answers, as I drown in my own dry tears. The answer it gave:
Was that the clock would always strike 3...
