There is so much beauty in a storm.
It's a spinning mess of wind, rain, hail, thunder and lighting. It's a spiraling tool of destruction. Standing on the outside you'd think, 'I better run for my life'. But once in the eye of the storm, you find peace and you think just for a moment, 'This isn't scary. This isn't dangerous, this is beautiful'. On the inside, the center, the heart, a storm is static. Still. Peaceful. Calm. Pure. The water lies flat. The sun cast a warm glow. The clouds part way to reveal the never ending crystal blue sky. The eye of the storm is beauty in its simplest form. If you were in the eye of a storm, you'd be in peace. Overwhelmed by comfort and completely serene. But to get to the eye, you first have to make it through the storm.
Storms are so much like people. So, so, so, so much like people. And I think that's beautiful.
Harry was my storm. And I loved him.
YOU ARE READING
Storm
General FictionShe fell in love with a boy with eyes as green as the forest and a voice as calm as the ocean after a storm.
