Before The Rain

<p>The first thing I noticed was the darkness. My room was the kind</p><p>of dark that presses against your eyelids the kind that isn't just</p><p>absence of light but the weight of everything waiting. My digital</p><p>clock glowed 3:33 a.m. the numbers fluorescent and steady like</p><p>they were carved into the air. And as usual I was awake lying</p><p>on my back with my hands folded across my stomach waiting</p><p>for the whisper I'd been hearing for seven nights straight.</p><p>Watch... for the storm will come.</p><p>It was the same words every night delivered like a soft breeze</p><p>that could cut glass if it wanted. I rolled onto my side and pulled</p><p>my journal closer. The pen felt cold in my fingers but as soon</p><p>as it touched paper it seemed to warm under my touch guided</p><p>by a force I didn't understand. I wrote:</p><p>Watch... for the storm will come.</p><p><br> </p>