cold comfort

i think this is all a tragic irony.

when the sky rips itself open and flings itself onto earth, i feel so alive. i feel like the sky has flung itself, axis and planets notwithstanding, all at me. and i feel less alone when this happens because how does one feel alone when you have a sforzando of a million raindrops accompanying you, and crying the tears you cannot find inside you? i love the haunting grey skey and the tumultuous snow of day. i love the angry red sky and the black ashen flakes of night. i love how conflicted i am, i love how steadfast my course runs, and you realise i say i love it because there is no use in hating it, because there is only wistfulness.

why have you gone? i’m not through with you, come back, come back.
rip yourself open again for me, again and again.