the thunder part of the rain

Sunny days brought her life.

The flower loved sunny days.

She flourished under the bright star,

smiled at its rise.

But then the next day,

it rained.

Hard.

Like a thunderstorm.

And the flower hated it.

She hated that the sunshine was gone,

replaced with the sound of impending doom.

The flower braced herself for what was to come,

the sky's elongated roar,

and it lasted for a little while,

but she was just grateful for the silence

once it was finally over.

So the flower forgave the rain,

even though it never apologized,

and she said "it's okay"

although it didn't feel okay.

Then the sun came out again.

And the flower was happy, but not as happy

as usual because now she knew that

the sky wasn't always sunny.

But she smiled like always, feeling the

warmth and the light, knowing that the sun

wouldn't yell at her.

But the next day it rained again.

Maybe even harder this time.

And the flower didn't understand why,

or how, the sky could change

so much and so quickly.

The flower didn't like this.

So she decided that she now hated

the sky and not just the rain,

because the sky was the root

of the problem.

But she didn't hate the sky all the time,

only when there was a thunderstorm,

but it seemed like there was a thunderstorm

most of the time.

And the flower knew it wasn't her fault,

but she wished the sky could be sunny

all the time.

She hated the thunder and the force

at which it screamed.

She hated the rain and the way it

dripped off of her petals.

But when it was sunny again,

she forgave the rain,

even though it never apologized,

and said, "it's okay"

even though it really wasn't.

And the flower's only wish

was that the sky

could be sunny

all the time.