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.