It had come like a soft breeze, caressing my cheeks, playing with my hair and sending butterflies fluttering all over my belly. It was a beautiful feeling; I felt peace in the breezy abode. It was calm and silent. All I could think of was being in that abode for eternity.
But I was so naïve to understand that the current of wind could rise slowly, like a centipede it crawled to becoming stronger. The current grew stronger and fiercer, but I held on compelling myself to think that it was still my abode. I was hurt and every part of me was tearing piece by piece. But I held on to the little thread of lost faith and in the flickering candle with hope of the return of my abode. I was trying so hard to prove my serene place would return back, that I’d settled for the wind. I thought the wind would now be my serenity.
Without my knowledge, the wind grew and trapped me in a hurricane. I was lost, trapped among the broken dreams, broken trust, broken hopes and bitter realization of my stupidity considering hurricane my abode even though all it did was crush and blew away everything; even myself. I suffered the pain of being torn apart piece by piece, every inch of my skin screamed for the lost to return but my suffering went in vain.
I rescued myself from the hurricane with branches that I should have held long ago. Now I’m walking in the ground, somewhere waiting for a gentle breeze to relieve my feet from the load but one part of me is scared of the breeze. It feels so comfortable and good that a person never knows about the hurricane. I’m scared if the gentle breeze would turn into a fierce hurricane someday and pull out every inch of my skin, leaving me to suffer once again. I’m scared of that calmness before the storm that would break me into fragments, like the last hurricane.