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Some people say to look at the sunset when they have lost the civil war they have battled within their brain for years and years. When their bodies lie to rest, turn your head towards the sky. Admire the reds and pinks, oranges, and yellow painting the sky like a blank canvas. Hundreds of shades tinting our world. Reminding everyone that they have lost you, but you haven't gone far. You're always right there, at the end of every day. Blanketing you in the hopes of tomorrow. They say to look up at the sky, at the breath taking mosaic that they made just for you.

That's not quite my speed. I'm a little more reckless, dramatic, but just as beautiful. The storm clouds rolling in as the sky opens up, blanketing all that can be touched. Fat tear drops smacking against the tin roof like bullets. Lulling the world to sleep. Lightning shrinking, the sky alight. Electricity running through the air. The hair at the base of your neck standing on end. Booms echoing through the sky. Crying along side you. Comforting you.

I won't be as peaceful or calm as a sunset. No, I will be screaming, fighting till the end of time. For you to go. To survive for one more night.

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