This isn't me wrapping up the old wrists, this isn't me staring at the bar preparing for a bench . . .
This is me moving the storage boxes out of the gym and wondering how much dust is really in here.
This is nothing but hope. This is a small ripple in the atmosphere causing the air to rub up on itself enough to let me hear thunder.
The possibility exists to see something, hail maybe, but thunder.
It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.