The Storm That Remembered Our Name

It came
not with fire,
not with screams,
but with a silence
that bent the trees.

The sky
cracked gently —
not in anger,
but in grief.

The wind
moved slow,
as if it carried
memories
too heavy to forget.

The streets
were still.
The birds
didn’t sing.
Even the earth
seemed to hold its breath.

We locked our doors,
closed our eyes,
blamed the weather —
never ourselves.

But the storm
was not a warning.
It was
a message.

"You built towers,
but forgot to feel.
You reached stars,
but let hearts break.
You stole from roots,
but never gave back."

The rain
fell harder.
It washed names
off gravestones.
It whispered
what we tried to forget.

And in that storm,
a girl stood —
barefoot,
small,
brave.

She didn’t run.
She looked up.

She touched the ground
and planted a seed
in the soaked soil.

She said,
"If you come again,
find us better."