The Sun Will Always Come Out Again

A 10ish line writing prompt from Sarah

The Sun Always Comes Out Again

Rain falls at a speed known as terminal velocity.

Insecurity and fantasy compete for the purpose lovers turn out the lights.

I heard footsteps and tried to estimate their distance on that creaky wooden floor.

My shadow has grown too proud until a cloud made it nothing to see at all.

This music makes me want to close my eyes and write from instinct.

The hard part of winter mornings in Seattle is the gloom.

The nice part is the solitude and a chance to inspect my own thoughts.

The rain ceases terminal velocity without any harm to itself or the tiny seed it irrigates.

I used to be afraid of everything that could rob me of comfort.

Now I ride currents and waves and long cycles that used to seem like permanence.

I breathe and the seed germinated and I smile with a sacred knowledge.

The sun always comes out again.