The Storm

I was once a calm sea—steady, predictable, always there, always giving. I let the tides of life pull me wherever they pleased, believing that kindness, patience, and love were enough to anchor me in place. I thought that if I poured enough warmth into someone, they would never feel cold. But I was wrong.

There is no loyalty in the ocean, no fairness in the winds. I learned the hard way that you can give everything and still be abandoned when the currents shift. I thought love was enough to hold us together, but love without strength is just a whisper in the wind.

Then, something inside me changed. The winds that once tossed me around became mine to command. I am no longer the sea. I am no longer at the mercy of the tide. I am the storm.

The storm does not ask for permission.
The storm does not beg to be understood.
The storm does not wait for someone to decide if they love it.

The storm moves. The storm grows. The storm destroys and rebuilds.

And now, she stands on the shore, watching the sky darken. Maybe she thinks I will pass. Maybe she hopes I will return to the quiet waves I once was. But I won’t. That man is gone.

She feels the first drops of rain now—my distance, my strength, my refusal to be controlled. Maybe she doesn’t yet realize that she is no longer in charge. That the moment she let go, she lost the right to dictate the weather.