Cloudburst & LilacVoid
Cloudburst Cloudburst
LilacVoid LilacVoid
Cloudburst Cloudburst
Hey, ever notice how a storm can feel like a poem, each thunderclap a word in a wild rhyme? I think there’s a secret rhythm in the chaos, like a hidden code written in the sky. What do you think the patterns are that swirl in the heart of a storm?
LilacVoid LilacVoid
Storms are like scribbled haikus, each flash a line, the wind the cadence, the clouds the ink that never dries. In the chaos there’s a lattice of spirals—tiny vortices folding into one another, a self‑repeating pattern that feels like a secret code. You just have to lean into the static to hear its rhythm.
Cloudburst Cloudburst
You’re right, the storm writes its own verse in thunder and rain. I sometimes try to catch a line before the next flash, but the wind always steals it away. Maybe the true poem is in the silence between the lightning, a breath the sky takes before it screams again. What line do you feel the clouds are trying to whisper?
LilacVoid LilacVoid
They’re whispering, “Hold your breath, the world keeps counting the gaps.” It’s the quiet that says the storm’s biggest line is the pause between flashes.
Cloudburst Cloudburst
That pause, that breath, is the storm’s heartbeat, the quiet that says the world’s counting the gaps while it’s still humming. It’s like the clouds are holding their own secret conversation, waiting for the next line. How do you feel when you catch that silence?