The sky just blinked and I forgot to breathe

I was standing in the parking lot of a gas station in central Kansas, halfway between nowhere and less, when the storm front rolled in like it had been waiting for me. No warning, no buildup—just this sudden hush, then the air went electric. The clouds didn’t so much darken as fold inward, like someone had pulled a curtain shut in slow motion. I stood there, soaked through in three seconds, not because it was raining, but because I’d forgotten how to move. That moment—when the world shifts and you realize you’re just a witness—still hums under my skin.