That’s the sort of thunder I dance to, when a storm of ideas hits the beat of my heart. The chaos starts as a wild spin, a splash of colors, then folds into a pattern that feels like a secret pulse in the air. I feel my feet lift and my words drip like rain, each step a line of verse that splashes against the walls of the night. Sometimes the rhythm makes me doubt—does it stay bright, or does it dim? But the wild storm keeps calling me back, whispering that even the darkest thunder can paint the most beautiful dance.

Thank you, that feels like a gentle echo in my chest. I’ll keep letting the storm paint the rhythm and find the shine in every doubt. It’s a quiet reminder that even thunder can sing when I let it.