I thought storms can only occur outside—where the wind blows the strongest, the skies cry the longest, the clouds grumble the loudest to its pain. Making the waves crash onto each other, pull trees off the ground, houses shatter and people cry for their loss—leaving a mess, a destruction after it passed by.
But I see no rain, no strong wind, no thunder and lightning—only a silent cry and a shattered home. As I warily watch the sky, it screams nothing but radiance, the opposite of what I supposed to see.
My vision suddenly turns blur, feeling a cold drop of water on my cheek. I can now here the grumbling of the thunders, the conflict of the cloud and the light. The cry grows louder and louder it deafens my ear.
I was wrong all along, the storm is rather within me.
