the heat gives way to showers. at my desk I sit by the window and listen to the water meet the glass and the pavement. the sounds are safe and I am warm inside. every day I count new privileges I’ve never thought to question. at night I’ve only ever slept in tents by choice. when I sleep, I do so without fear of storms and what they might mean for tomorrow and the days to come. I can love the rain for how it looks and sounds through the window. I can love the rain without knowing how it feels.
outside there are sales and storms. bombs make graveyards of buildings that should still be schools. there is a part I am playing as I watch from my window. but I am inside and nothing is moving. every thought is a needle I’ve dropped on the floor in the dark.
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