Hurricane

It came disguised as the warmest day ever to enter my life.

The rays of Its light softened my guarded, frozen skin—the same skin that has kept my heart protected and safe.

This light kissed every piece of me and opened me up like a tree budding anew in the spring.

My exhale of relief was so deep and It seemed to breathe in my breath as if I was giving It hope, strength, and maybe even determination—a chance to begin Its own, new life.

Its light, warm breeze caressed the deepest parts of my guarded soul in a way I had only ever dreamt of. A sensation of sincere, gentle fingertips giving soothing and healing to all of my fine lines, deep scars, and filling all of the spaces left from traumatic pain. I had long accepted these as being empty and festering within evermore.

Within moments of meeting the deceiver, I felt healed, at peace, and ever hopeful that my dreams of Love were not only just a fantasy—that even I could still be loved.

Its scent surrounded me, bringing a feeling of safety, security, and rejuvenation.

It brought an idea of, "You don't have to worry any longer. I'll care for you. Relax into me. You are finally safe."

I was all-consumed by My Love for It. I could not stop myself from giving into the purity of Its good intentions that enveloped me.

The walls I had spent so much time building crumbled to rubble and dirt at Its feet while I stood before him entirely vulnerable, naked, and exposed.

I had become entirely undone and succumbed to what would surely be either the truest form of love or the depths of pain I had never withstood before.

My eyes closed, relishing in all I had ever craved, all I had ever secretly desired.

I believed it was finally my time, at last.

The dark replaced the sunlight, the gentle, healing, caressing breeze became a cold, painful, pelting rain.

Fear instantly consumed me. Where did My Love go?

What has replaced the new serenity I had only just finally found after so long?

Upon opening my eyes, I quickly realised My Love had twisted shape and mood.

What had once been My Saviour has now become my final demise.

Light turned to terrifying blackness. The healing fingertips now hail bruising upon my already fragile skin.

Its once calming scent now reeks of a soul's death following a prolonged torture.

My love has become a Hurricane.

I am unable to flee. Fear has its cold, sharp fingers around my throat. I cannot speak. In my mind, I am sick with confusion, as I am afraid and yet still feeling such deep Love for It.

Please, I beg! Do not suffocate me with your winds. Do not drown me with your waters. Do not bury me with your soil.

I can feel It resisting, trying to fight Its instinct to spread His pain—to make others join Him within his palace of self torture.

But My Love is weak and more broken than even I.

He cannot stop the beast, the wreckage he has become. I can feel it. He will destroy what little remains of me.

My newfound joy turns quickly to a deep sorrow as I know he will not stop now. He will lay ruin to the small empire I have built in solitude.

And he commences onto me in all his brutal force and sheer determination.

What I had perceived as Love has become nothing. I have become nothing to Him.

Should I survive his storm, I will cease to exists as the woman I once was. My scars will run deeper and my soul will hide in darkness.

He is upon me, pulling my very essence from my lifeless body, reaching inside my weakest points and suffocating what He finds there. All is dark. All is silent.

And then he is gone, just as swiftly as he had arrived.

I am left torn apart and searching for strewn fragments of myself.

There is no colour. I only see shades of light and darkness—cold... empty—blindly seeking the few remaining parts of me that have kept me sane.

I find some of me over time, hidden in shadows, underneath strangers' beds, glimmering shards beneath steady streams of water, and a few in the bottoms of bottles.

One part remained missing, no matter where I looked or whom I spoke to in hopes of finding it.

You see It took my heart with him—as a trophy. He has a collection of hearts which he can gaze at and feel pleasure, to feel powerful. It can keep the others on His hearth but He will not own mine.

I have become the storm chaser.