I am a storm

I lie in bed next to them,

memorizing every hard angle and soft curve.

My eyes devour their silhouette, urging my trembling hands to touch.

They sleep soundly, exhaling soft snores

that make the right corner of my lips tilt upward.

Watching them sleep brings me joy and fear in equal measure.

They’re mine to touch, to see, to love.

A treasure.

Treasure.

A good thing.

And...

The fear rushes in, making it hard to breathe.

Good things are fragile whisps that tear in soft breezes.

I’ve never met a good thing that could withstand a storm.

That’s what I am.

A storm.

I’m a tornado, but I’m inside-out and my eye is on my outside

And all the bluster and rage is on my inside

And...

They’re completely unaware that I might sweep them away

In my elemental madness.

I want to run.

They think I’m an anchor.

A port in their storm.

A wind rises within me and thunder rumbles beneath my skin

And...

Then they smile in their sleep.

The wind dies down.

My thunder fades away.