Wet.

The alarm woke me this morning. Though my eyes had only closed just three hours ago, I have never been more grateful for having a reason to wake up. The nightmares rendered the room as chilly as a grave, but sweat was pouring down like rain.

Wet.

I heard the howling first. The winds are haunting me again. I can't see through the day curtains, but I can barely make out the silhouette of the tree in front of my window. It's a disturbing sight. The branches, thrashing about like a mad woman. Rooted to the ground, unable to run, traumatized. I wonder what it's like to be raped by the winds.

Wet.

Before I pulled back the curtains, I already knew what I would see. I closed my eyes, imagined the sight, imagined the smell, imagined what the winds are whispering. I felt my heart beating faster, butterflies in my stomach, nerve endings running amok. I grabbed the curtains with both hands. Spread them wide open. Dark skies, pelting down in anger.

Wet.

I stared defiantly out of the window, prevented myself from opening the windows. I could let the rain beat down on my face, ruin all my furniture, extinguish the flame that's burning up my insides. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I like the pain. I like how it grips me entirely when I least expect it, how it revives all my senses and makes everything around me so excruciatingly vivid.

Wet.

A few seconds later, the rain retreated. Everything looked pretty again. The sounds revived, the smells polluted. The pain left with the winds. I turned around and faced the rest of my bedroom. Unmade bed, fan still switched on, closet door slightly ajar. Back to reality. I gathered my things, the usual morning ritual, and stepped into the shower.

Wet.