Thunderstorm

On warm summer nights, as we sat contentedly on the couch

the clouds would sneak up on us.

The world lost its color, turning a cold and merciless black

while the clouds seemed to laugh at my cowering face

and you held me closer telling me I was safe.

The sky appeared to open, setting loose a bright flash

that reflected in my wide eyes peeking out from under your bed

and the deep thunder would rattle my bones,

my pounding heart almost drowning out the noise.

I remember you telling me it was the most beautiful thing in the world,

but I never once believed you.

One night, I peeked out the window while I held your hand tightly in my own

and we watched the sky perform its show together.

It was the most beautiful thing in the world.