Rain on Sundays


I want my patch of normal.
Settled and breathing freely and less tossed about.
Put me down gently.
In a place with some cool air and a breeze at night.
With walks where it rains on Sundays and with a bench under a tree that’s good for reading.
A place where time is not too fast or too slow.
And where the people ebb and flow in and out of lives when it’s time for them to go with little fuss and fewer headaches.
Where the ground feels solid beneath even the wariest of feet and with clouds to act as companions so the silence stings a little less.


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