My storm.

I will not cower in fear and wait till the storm stops. I’d rather feel the thunder with my every heartbeat than watch how it slowly fades away, leaving no trace. No. There is so much beauty in this storm, as it flashes before my eyes, lightens my inner fire and shows my true self to the world. I am a storm hunter. I devour its power, its fearful presence, but I am also a lover of its final state. The calm after. The other side. I could never dare to even consider it beautiful without accepting it all. I always wanted it all. The pain when it breaks trees and flowers, when it conquers the sky but mostly… I wanted it for its true way of being a part of everything, because after and before the storm, there were those moments of purity, I couldn’t find in any other form of existence. It was a masterpiece, unique everytime; I have seen it like my favorite work of Shakespeare, played all over again, but different and so damn well, I could not stop staring. That was and will always be the storm for me. A masterpiece. A player of my soul. The bond between beauty and chaos. And that is exactly what he is. My storm.

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