I thought I’d made it through the storm.
That we clashed, and went our separate ways,
As far away from each other as the world would allow.
But the storm did not move.
While I sailed, it stood raging,
The eye was far wider than I let myself believe.
Now the storm sifts through the wreckage,
My disappearance only provokes,
What can be done with what remains?
Once upon a time I was the devil.
They put me in his shoes but I danced anyway,
The storm didn’t like that.
The devil didn’t like that.
The other side approaches.
My body aches, but my mind stays the course,
The storm is silent.
I am silent.
Then the crash of the waves returns,
As if it were whispering, “Welcome home.”
Where is Hope now?
What if I continue towards it and am swallowed by the sea?
Even as I ask myself, I press on,
And if it carries me on forward, then hope is alive.
The devil sends the storm?
I sail into the storm.
You are the storm?
I can swim.

I’m a student and a franchise-owner who loves to tell stories. Currently applying to study abroad in Vancouver Canada.
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