it is thundering.
Fact: There is a cold wetness on my forehead.
Fact: The droplets on my glasses blurry my vision.
Fact: I used to love the nighttime.
Is it raining?
Maybe I’m seeing wrong. Maybe,
I’m not remembering
the weather prediction right. Maybe,
I’m too tired to think clearly.
You don’t have wet hair that clings your face
like mine does. You say I’m insane
for shivering and pulling my jacket tighter.
Maybe my mind is fooling me. Maybe,
I’m not drowing. Maybe,
I’m not gasping for air. No one else is.
You’re making things up.
It wasn’t that bad.
You don’t remember it right.
Why are you making things up?
Do I not remember it right?
The memories are hazy, but I felt
thunderstorms that flooded my bones and
swept away the oxygen. I felt
lightning that struck my hands paralyzed.
Or was that you? Holding my wrists down as you screamed
how much you wanted to hurt me.
But you stopped yourself, because you would be the bigger person.
I remember thanking you
for not hitting me.
Fact: It is raining.