Plop, plop, plop.
My head aches with all the thoughts running through it. Aren’t they tired of tormenting me all day? Haven’t they seen me break down enough? I walk home, head pounding, my eyelids holding back an ocean of true emotions. Emotions that have been locked away for too long. Locked away in fear of being looked down upon and judged. I pull my hoodie over my tormented mind. My safe, dark sanctuary.
Plop, plop, plop.
The sound of rain hitting the asphalt. Asphalt I walk home on, hoping to succumb to the comfort of my bed and drift fast asleep, sleeping in an attempt to escape my unfortunate reality.
Plop, plop, plop.
I take off my hood, my safe sanctuary momentarily gone, to feel the tears of Mother Nature on my dry skin. The frigid, sharp droplets of water roll down my cheeks, taking away some of the heated anger created there. It’s comforting to know that even Mother Nature has to cry sometimes, and she looks so beautiful while doing it. Why can’t I look as gorgeous when I cry? Even when she screams in loud cracks of lightning, she always presents herself with the utmost perfection.
Plop, plop, plop.
The rain snaps me out of my deep pondering of life. To help me not go too far in my thoughts, for if I do, I will drown in the deepest and darkest waves of them.
Plop, plop, plop.
The sounds of the rain hit my plastic backpack. The backpack that has witnessed the cruel words people say behind my back, taking note of every word. I look up towards the sky and close my eyes. I concentrate on the soothing sounds of her tears. Cold tears that are merging with my burning ones. She pats my back as I cry, she listens to my sorrows and she tells me I am not alone.
Plop, plop, plop.
Cold air whips around my head, trying to take my untucked hair strands with it. The strands I often tug at due to the stress and anger bottling inside me. The feelings that slosh around like a hurricane, waiting impatiently to be let out. How long before they escape my mouth, my eyes, my very soul? How long before I become as violent and powerful as the wind she whips at my body? Or perhaps she is taking deep breaths, trying to calm her senses. I try as well.
Plop, plop, plop.
I breathe in until my lung hurts, and then slowly exhale. The hot breath escapes my mouth and meets the cold, frigid air around me. As I finish calming my senses, she slows down with me. My tear-stained cheeks, and her tear-stained land. She has done more damage, was she hurting more than me? Watching as her once-beautiful world grows weaker and more aggressive every day. Perhaps she can relate to the way I feel. Perhaps I am not alone, at least she is here for me.
Plop. plop. plop.
The trees spilled her last tears, just as people I learned to trust, spilled my secrets. She clears her skies, well, mostly. There are a few clouds left. She might have let out some of her sorrows, but some latch on and never let go. Like she clears her skies, I try my mind. I think about the calming things in life. How the sun shyly peaks through the remaining clouds, like happiness waiting for her chance to shine after sadness. How the ground holds her tears, letting her know she didn’t cry for no reason. Maybe one day, someone will be here to wipe away my tears.
Plop, plop, plop.
How the tree leaves rustle, waiting for a moment to chat after she has finished speaking. If only people would let me talk when I needed to let out my frustrations. Alas, I am now filled once more with these thoughts. The thoughts regrouped and waited for me when I thought I was finally done. Like a tsunami creeping up on a peaceful island. But nothing gold can stay for long. I once more pull up my darkened hood, the only thing that comforts me when Mother Nature is not here to listen. But I am not upset with her. She has things to do elsewhere. As she leaves, I leave too. To my house, the box that coops me up all weekend and spits me out for a new week. Not even preparing me for the harsh words and actions of the outside world. The thing that is supposed to be my safe place, but monsters live there too, swimming in the darkest shadows of my mind.
Plop, plop, plop.
Her tears hit the insides of the sewers, like mine, not even the ground can care that long about people’s emotions. Even then, someone who pretends to care throws our thoughts, words, and hidden feelings away.
Plop, plop, plop.
