Thunderstorms {M.Clifford}

It's 11:33, the night is surprisingly silent after a day filled with continuous thunderstorms. It looks like someone pulled a navy blue blanket over the sky, and I wish more than anything that you were here.

It's 11:36, and the nighttime is making me feel vulnerable. All I want to do is rest my head on your shoulder, intertwine my fingers with yours and talk to you. I'd most likely tell you anything you need to know.

It's 11:39, and I just received a notification of a new text. I hoped it was you, but it wasn't. My phone really needs to stop teasing me like that.

I miss you.