There is a thunderstorm outside the window
and soon the moment will be gone.

I will no longer be in the place I’ve called
home for the past eight months.

The sun will rise differently,
air won’t smell the same,
and there won’t be
thunderstorms
like this.

For a moment I am sad and
for a moment I am utterly at peace
with the transience of it all,
the need to appreciate,
the urgency of gratitude.

There is a thunderstorm outside the window,
but inside I am still.

Soon it will be gone.
Flash.
Crack.
Boom.