The Love for a Storm

DEATH DOES this thing to us. It affects all of us. It's shaped like a circle, surrounding us daily. There isn't a way around it, each of us has a spot within this circle, this vicious circle. It stops at all of us, taking those we love from us right before our eyes without any warning, without a weapon to defend. We don't get a choice, none of us. There is no such thing as being immortal or immune to death.

One day, we'll all laugh about that, as if it really mattered. Forever isn't forever. Forever doesn't last as long as we'd like. Those that we love become ghosts, wiped from our lives as if they weren't even there in the first place. I suppose that is what hurts the most. The feeling of being left behind without answers. They don't explain their absence, they don't owe us an explanation.

He loved storms.

My brother did.

I never understood until now. What a real storm felt like. What it felt like to watch your home be picked up and thrown like a rag doll. What it was like to watch lightning catch trees on fire.

I had always asked myself, what was so beautiful about that? What is so beautiful about destruction?

But I get now. 

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