slipped right through my fingers.
Now, sitting in the quiet aftermath of a storm no one else can see, the weight settles in. Yet again, I think I failed.(3/3)
The morning started with a whisper—a subtle, heavy shift in the air that usually means rain is on the way. I felt it in my bones, that quiet warning. Looking back, I should have been more careful. I should have paid attention.
The sky never opened up. The rain never came (1/3)
Instead, the storm hit internally. It arrived like a quiet wind tapping me on the shoulder, gently warning me that a test was incoming, giving me one last chance to brace myself. But I wasn't ready. The conflict came, the old familiar patterns took over, and the opportunity(2/3)