When we began, he was a shower of snowflakes, but I was the entire blizzard.
When we broke into hatred, he was just a sidewalk cracked in the rumble of my earthquake.
When I fell in love, he was the first spark, but I was the roaring forest fire.
When he shattered my heart, he filled the sky with raindrops, and from his cloud I grew into a hurricane.
And now that he’s gone, I’ve been able to see myself for who I really am: I am the thunderstorm, made up of clouds of fun beginnings; sprinkles and splatters of hatred; deafening cracks of pain; and shining bolts of love.
Maybe the world is full of disasters, but maybe, even more so, it is full of the chance for blue skies.