“What if the rain never came?”, I beckoned. Shoulders curled to the center near my heart- my eyes followed like a prisoner to my mind.

She told me, “but sweetheart, remember how the rain watered the garden and everything bloomed fully?” I guess it wasn’t all bad. I wasn’t always drowning. There wasn’t always a storm.

Sometimes when I think I’m drowning, I remember that I’ve been treading water the entire time. That’s enough, isn’t it? Maybe it was shallow all along. Maybe you always knew how to swim and it was a knee-jerk reaction to saving yourself. Maybe the rain came and went and you chose to let it quench you. Now you’re choosing to forget.

It wasn’t always bad.

It wasn’t always dangerous.

It wasn’t always so fucking tragic.