Thunderhead

Her thoughts resembled looming thunderheads. Sometimes billowing with helpful precipitation. Other times darkening with cynical anticipation. She needed to breathe, to inhale the substance of life that seemed to perspire through her every pore these last few years. Who had she become? She was a stranger in her own head. Her heart no longer pulsed with the passion she once knew. Sometimes she wished it would stop beating altogether because maybe then her internal storm would subside.

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