Rain and Snake

I crawl through darkness — small, scared, biting at shadows to keep my life, to keep my fear away. I hold my breath, keep still, hiding trembling beneath the strike, trying not to break, trying not to pour my heart out. Everyone sees the fight — the flash of scales, the flicker of anger — but no one sees the fear that claws beneath the surface, the quiet battle I wage alone. I am the rain — falling slow, holding back the storm inside, stubbornly holding it in, though the weight grows heavy. Sometimes I feel it — the sky breaking open, the flood ready to spill free, but I clutch harder, trying not to drown in my own tears. I see that in him — eyes full of pain, holding back the storm, terrified, yet still trying to keep the enemy at bay with silence and stillness. Maybe I am the same — holding on too tight, hiding the cracks, knowing the end may come soon, but refusing to let go. Maybe we are all snakes and rain — also here to survive the storm — fragile and fierce, wounded and wary, trying to live without breaking.