I always preferred the sky when it’s grey.

When it looks heavy and thick, behind it is stifled brightness unable to break through.

It’s not dark, not quite. Like an ominous brightness.

I always thought of myself as a grey sky. The bright kind right before sunset when the sun is still struggling to make an appearance in the day.

I was bleak, dull and on occasion I infected those around me with a misery they couldn’t fully describe or explain. 

Most would say they remembered a time when they were sunshine, when they felt constantly illuminated and warm. They were this joyous wave that spread wide over anyone in their path, once. Before they became a grey sky.

Not me.

I was never a sun or a sunny day. I was never even longed to be a sunny day.

I was always a grey sky, longing to be a greyer sky that could give transform into the fiercest rain storm. I wanted to add weight to the lightest of fabrics in this world, I wanted to shake trees and move mountains. I wanted to affect the very sea and any who dared to travel it when I was a fierce rainstorm. 

One day, maybe. At least that is what I tell myself. One day, perhaps, if I’m lucky I will be a rainstorm. With booming thunder and lightning that brightens the sky in the most treacherous way. 

For now, I am a grey sky. 

Don’t worry, that’s what I’ve always preferred. Don’t frown to think I’m melancholy and dreary. 

There is promise in a grey sky. 

Promise that I may one day become the most fierce rainstorm you have ever seen that will uproot trees, and move houses and cars, and fill your hearts with a fearful anxiousness you don’t think you’ll ever live through.

Maybe you won’t.

But if you do, you will survive to see the hope in morning, in a single ray of sunlight.  The kind of hope that shakes your reality, crumbling it so it can transform you into the person you want to be. The one who lives in the moment, who holds on with all their strength instead of letting go, who smiles for no reason and appreciates the importance of a grey sky and a dreary day. The kind that’s bleak and dull, and on occasion infects people with a misery they cant describe or even explain.

Most people long to be the sun, or a sunny day. To live blissfully unaware of what’s missing.

I know what’s missing. 

It’s a secret not many know, one that is elusive and at times impossible to even catch sight of. 

Because you have to look for it on a grey day. When it looks heavy and thick, behind it is stifled brightness unable to break through.


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