I let the rain come in, just for the hell of it. Lightning, thunder, rain trashed the room like a rockstar, and now all of my magazines on the coffee table are warped with water. I sit back in a damp recliner and feel pleased. Bring it all in. I don’t want to be shut up in here anymore but I can’t bring myself to pass the threshold of the door, so instead let’s let the world in. Wasn’t that once the tagline for the worldwide web? It applies to thunderstorms too.
I read different blogs and admire how some people feel so deeply that the torment is squeezed from them like a lemon. I’ve dried out. Maybe it was because I shut myself up in here for so long I can’t remember quite what it’s like to care for someone again. I don’t remember what it feels like, that torn up run-and-hide kind of passion and love that makes you miserable. So instead I sit contentedly in my apartment, trying to let the storms in.
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