Blizzard

Some days are lighter. The sun somehow pushes through regardless of the clouds’ stubbornness.
Some days are dark. As if you’re stuck in the middle of winter and forget that it will end at some point.
Other days are dark but you somehow think the darker the sky the more stars you’ll see.
But most days are like this. Stuck between spring’s warmth and the glory of when snowflakes get caught on your eyelashes. When everything is so grey you’re drawn to think you’ve lost your sense of colour. When it’s been grey for so long that when the sun does come out, you won’t let it warm your skin. It’s an unnatural feeling. You can’t.
Some days, you spend wondering whether the weather will stop completely.

Weather is erratic. So much so that you begin to think it’s controlled. By something. Anything. Stunting the growth of our gardens and causing atrocities. Only a human is sadistic enough to want such a force. But nobody understands it. No one can quite figure out the blizzard of thoughts that surround the weather or why you need a hand to hold when it’s windy just so you won’t blow away.
Yes, it’s during this blizzard of thoughts that you realise that it couldn’t be controlled. Nothing is controlled. If it was, who’s to say that we couldn’t take hold ourselves and change the force of nature? Nothing controls how heavy the rain is, even if it drowns you.