It was one of those mornings, the kind where the world feels heavy, yet serene all at once. I pulled back the curtain and opened the window. A gentle rain was falling outside, tapping rhythmically against the leaves and softening the air.
I love the rain. There’s something soothing, almost therapeutic, about the way it refreshes everything it touches. But that morning, my gratitude for the rain came with an extra layer of relief. It provided me with a perfectly acceptable excuse to skip my usual Sunday power walk, something I ordinarily enjoy, but not today.
Instead, I let myself collapse back into the bed, pulling the soft, white duvet over me like a protective shield. The comfort of its familiar embrace felt grounding in a way I desperately needed. But without asking for permission, my thoughts took over, replaying the previous night’s events with an unkind persistence. That sinking feeling I’d tried to ignore started rising again, bringing with it a weight I couldn’t shake.
