Clouds are meant to be light and fluffy. Relaxingly beautiful, stretched across the sky forming unique shapes, like brush strokes.

This is how clouds have always been. Kids dream of playing in the clouds; jumping, flying, bounding through the sky. Clouds are meant to be pure and full of promise.

When I was young, every cloud formed a different shape

I spent hours looking at the sky, imaging what each cloud formed

The future of the clouds was a mystery to me

I imagined myself drifting through the sky, light and full of life

Eventually, the soft gentle clouds turned into turbulant storm clouds. These clouds ruined my fun at times, but I never let them taint my love for dreaming of swimming in the clouds.

I do not know what changed, but suddenly it seems the storm clouds are all that I can see.

As my youth fades so does my innocence, the clouds darken, and the sky is unforgiving. They are ominous and dark, shooting an abundance of lighting in a sliver of a second. They are vaste and never ending. The clouds I am familiar with are no friend of mine, they bring hours of rain, and sadness rushes over me. The clouds I know are my reality, a reminder that life is not what I dreamed it would be. There is no reaching for the sky or floating as I imagined it. Rain drops flood down on me. I do not own an umbrella, for I am not one to be prepared. I stand outside and let myself get soaked, the thunder growls at me from the abyss. The grey clouds loom above my head. My dreams of playing in the clouds have disappeared, I want it all to end