Some say love is a walk in the park during a never-ending summer, every day is like a paradise. Others says love is like a hurricane, chaotic and destructive. It feels like a dead weight in your chest, and leaves a rotten feeling in your stomach. A word that is thrown around and moves whichever way the wind blows.
It’s sprinkled around like false rain from a false cloud, until you get hit by that one true rain drop. That one true drop of Hydrogen and Oxygen that lands right on your heart. The sudden cold startles you at first, and maybe you realize it and you jump for joy. Or maybe you acknowledge it, but then then turn away, trying to ignore it. Either way, the rain drop never dries up.
The damp spot, still there when you wake up in the morning. Uncomfortable and cold, making it nearly impossible to forget. You can try to slip on some socks and fluffy slippers, throw on some Long Johns and sweatpants, layer a thermal with a hoodie and top off the outfit of denial with some mittens your grandmother knitted you two Christmas’ ago. Two hours later, the top of your head will tingle with a freezing shock.
So you put on a nice, thick beanie. You look in the mirror and sigh; you look horrible in hats. You wrap yourself up in blanket after blanket of protection. But you still get goosebumps anytime there’s even the slightly moment of stillness.
Go ahead, crank up the heater to one hundred and five degrees and build the biggest fire your hearth can hold. You might die of a heat stroke because it’s the middle of August, but that damp spot on your heart still hasn’t evaporated. You have finally had enough.
You look up at your ceiling and scream “When will it stop raining!?”, now obviously you don’t get a reply. So you do the next logical thing and check the weather forecast,
This just in: A little rain never hurt anybody.