3AM Thoughts (2)

Are you a hot weather or a cold weather type of person? he asked me softly.

“Neither,” I answered.

He saw the golden, warm rays of the sun singing in her hair that were spilling on her shoulders like a brown stream of water. The glow in her eyes resonated a thousand unshed tears, pinpricks of battles she embraces and wins each day, the world going ignorantly about her in its deathly stupor.

He saw the moon’s innocent light cast off her skin like a pale sheet of glass, seeping into her scars and making them shimmer. But he did not shy away from them; he found beauty in her hidden treasures.

You hold the sun and the moon within you, he told her. You capsize the hot summer and the cold winter on your fingertips.

No, she told him, I don’t.

Then what are you?

I’m loud, and I’m clear. And I’m wildly fierce. I refuse to back down or stop howling under their black, raging winds. I’m a storm, you see.

He looked into her eyes then, and noticed there what he had missed before. It wasn’t agony they reflected; it was her silvery resilience, her shimmering perseverance.

“I am a storm and I rejoice in my thunders and my rains and all my misty lightnings.”