literature

Thunderstorms

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Literature Text

Sometimes when I'm on my bed, listening to the thunderstorms outside, I open the window just a little enough for me to see the raindrops falling over the trees and the lightnings touching something really far away, and lighting up the sky with their power. So strong, so yet ephemeral.
But when I'm still on my bed just listening to the rain, I wonder what would be like if some of those strong and loud noises outside hit my roof, leaving the ceiling to fall over my head and body. I wonder what would it be like. I wonder because it's like I could see all the scenario in my mind and feel the ceiling falling. And it happens right before my eyes, like I could touch myself in despair and only watch, as I get hurt and the rain start watering all my bedroom, all my notebooks, all my secrets, and then, start to wash them away like they were just tiny little fishes in a river.

The river is my mind.
The strong and loud noises are the voices.
The ceiling is myself, breaking upon my selves in order to recognize them, and I get hurt.
I hurt.
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