Thinking about the future always reminds me of a thunderstorm.
Sometimes, all you see is the flash of light, the sighting of momentary dawn at your window, before the heavens burst and drown out the noise that should be roaring like a lion, heard over everything else, but is instead that of a cat's purr, steady and silent, merely a background noise. You wonder if perhaps you missed the best part, the loudness, the energy, the excitement. All that's left now is the aftershocks, the quiet. You feel forgotten, left out, as if you hear the final notes of your favourite song, like you missed the lead up, heard the punch line and didn't quite find it funny.
Sometimes you know about the risks beforehand. The tornado warnings blaring in the distance, and you huddling in your bathroom, counting your every breath, uncertain when the next one will follow, praying for the first time to something you're not quite sure exists. But you'd rather make peace now, in the quiet seconds, between the loud claps, just in case.
Or maybe you don't hear about the risks until it's over. You're unaware of the act of courage and feel this glowing ember take hold inside, allowing that ember to catch on everything in the room, until all you're left with is ashes. When the next time rolls around, the story doesn't quite end in your favour. You feel betrayed because you thought you were immortal. And then you feel guilt, because there wasn't a betrayal, you just thought to highly of yourself again.
Or perhaps, amidst those nights with the silent purrs of thunder, the flashes of light streaking the sky, the words spoken but not believed, the background noise of the rain washing away the rest of the colours, you hear it.
*CRASH*
Perhaps, when you thought you missed the best bit, you were only seeing the previews.
