The rain always stops

you sit there,
drenched in the shitstorm of it all
work, love, the endless noise
of existence.

the rain pelts you like insults
from a drunken lover,
the kind you almost believed
you could save.

but listen
no storm has the stamina
to go forever.
the clouds get tired,
even the sky has to breathe.

so you endure it:
the wet clothes,
the cold skin,
the mud pooling at your feet.

and then, without warning,
the drops stop,
the sun elbows its way
through the mess,
and suddenly
you’re standing in a world
that survived.

don’t make a big deal out of it.
don’t preach or weep or dance
just wring out your shirt
and keep walking.

there’ll be other storms,
sure.
but even the universe
knows when it’s time
to call it a night.

F.S.F