STORMS (ADULT)

She learned to outlast the weather inside her.

She was a cheerful child—thoughtful, mostly, and empathetic. That’s what her mother would tell people.

It was hard not to like her. Beautiful, kind, and as smart as a whip, the kind of kid who understood adult jokes too soon and made grown-ups laugh with her, not at her.

But as she grew older, the weather changed.

Her moods came on like storms.
No warning. Just dark clouds swallowing the sun.
She’d try to function in the dark.
Move through it.
Pretend the light was still there.
But resistance only made it worse.

The storms fed on her struggle.
Fighting back gave the clouds more power.
Giving in was the only thing that ever worked.

She’d retreat, deep, silent, unreachable.
Her words would fail. Her voice would vanish.
Sometimes, it felt easier to disappear altogether than to survive the flood.

But just when she began to believe the darkness would swallow her whole,
a ray of sun would land on her cheek.

She’d remember that it passes.

It always passed.
Even when it didn’t feel like it would.