Storms

I think one of the most beautiful treasures in the world is the calm before the storm. The look in someone's eye before the battling words are spoken. The excited, pounded hearts before a treacherous journey. The warm breeze drifting softly over your skin before the sharp downpour. It's truly beautiful. A moment of hope, a softened state in which time idles and the future disintegrates, like ashes blowing in the wind. I suppose the storm may be substituted, used as a metaphor. Before you're boyfriend opens his mouth and reveals his betrayal, you become soft, vulnerable, hopeful, warm, but once the words hit you, it all sinks. The moment before everything is blown to pieces is beautiful, the distraught of tension. We force it upon ourselves. We hope he says everything is fine. We hope the adventure will follow according to plan. We hope the rain will wait until we reach the door. We hope. The calm before the storm is simply a state of hopefulness, a state in which we ponder the possibilities.