CLOUDS

My least favorite weather is cloudy.

Not rain.

Rain is, of course, my favorite weather.

Cloudy is my least. Even though they're a breath away from each other.

I can't breath when it's cloudy. The air feels heavy. The clouds are dark and look like they're descending.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Full, but never relenting.

When the sky would look like this, my parents would always say, "Looks like it's trying to rain."

Now as an adult, I wonder what if it's trying not to rain?

I'll say that again.

What if the sky feels so heavy, but is trying to save face?

What if the clouds hold back the rain because they don't want to burden us with their multitude of tears?

What if this cloud has never heard the word pluviophile (that is, lover of rain). What if this cloud had only ever seen upturned umbrellas and running for cover and concluded that this is the price of feeling too much?

What if this cloud has never seen me and my friends joyfully play soccer in a downpour? Or has never see me stand arms outstretched, face upturned, letting the rain was over me?

Knowing that I'm not alone.

Knowing it's okay to feel.

And being there for the downpour.