So. It rained oceans today.
It is indeed an odd choice to make, but driving into a thunderstorm and choosing to move away from glorious light into gloomy darkness is really no mean feat.
It is like staring down the red, unblinking eyes of a raging bull, with the agonising realisation that the furious bovine has but one overly simple mission: that is, to simply put a swift end to your puny existence.
It is like the drab watercolour painting of the sky set on a broken easel, with its artist seemingly having ran out of all the beautiful blue in the world and having to resort to using only the remaining colours of black and grey to cover up the nice bits: unfortunately, they end up spilling over the lines and drowning everything in plain sight.
It is like voluntarily heading inside the deep, dark belly of a blue whale, surrendering your fate to the vast unknown: you are being swallowed whole, warts and all, and then cleanly washed down with an old bottle of white wine.
But once the sun parts through the clouds once more and casts its friendly rays on good ol’ earth again, you will know that the worst of the worst has truly passed, and that home sweet home is just within reach.
Hope can be powerful; I am just not sure if having too much of it is a good thing after all.