Just a little something I wrote last night while reflecting on life:

The skies are dark overhead, heavy clouds rolling against a blackened sea. Gray is torn by the violent spiderwebs of light and air is sucked thin, with electricity rustling like static through the evening.

The heavens break, while everything within just crumbles as the imprisonment washes away. Waterfalls cascading, melting mud, drenched grass, raging rivers, streaming down her skin.

She extends her hand, dewdrops of rain settled over her trembling palm, dripping from her outstretched fingers.

The wind tangles her hair; water plastering the strands against her face and bare shoulders.

The river before her churns white, hitting the rocks and slamming into the sides, raging against the captivity of the banks. Rain beats down on the surface of the angry water.

Her eyes survey the dark skies, her lips are speaking unheard questions, breath escaping in a tragic and ragged scream, raising her voice to the heavens. The clouds continue to drift. The wind is uncaring. The whisper of the rain is not a response. It is not enough.

There is no one listening.

She stands and she sweeps her eyes across the landscape that is surrounding her, as if she is waiting for something. Silently, long moments drift past. The wind ruffles the grass under her bare feet. She turns again toward the river that continues to cry; her tears mingling with the rain running down her cheeks, water lost in water.

Illuminating the world and freezing a moment of time, the lighting strikes and fills the sky with a thousand fingers. She closes her eyes and stands on the bank, letting the water rush over her toes, past her ankle.

Lightning cracks the air once more, thunder booming darkly, lighting up the raging water of the river and the falling rain suspended in time; and the empty bank.

There is no one watching.

Maybe there never was.