on the first thunderstorm of the warm season, she is getting on my nerves trying to make it a metaphor for everything: the lightning streaks, counting the seconds until the thunder. it's about waiting, and predicting how loud and long that thunder will be. i'm not really buying it. it feels like trying to put importance on something that just is, trying to make it count for something in human terms. which is not to say that the electric air isn't fascinating and that i don't feel a bit disappointed when the train rumbles underground, leaving the storm unobserved. the problem with the subway is that you can't always see where you're going.

but later aboveground the sky has lightened and cleared a little. the clouds are showing off the multitude of possibilities, and i think of the line from olena: every time you wish the sky was something happening to your heart, you lose twice.