The Storm

Standing over a puddle watching the rain fall like teardrops from my eyes. I stand in the storm wondering how many times I have been here before? How many tears have fallen from my eyes to make puddles like these? As I look back on my past I know there are far too many to count. I know not what or who the storm brings, but once it arrives my purpose becomes apparent. I am relentless in commitment and comfort until the storm is over and the sun shines again, at least for one. My storm is always present. It is vengeful and merciless. It rocks my foundation and tears away at my strength. Living inside this vessel is nothing, but exhausting torture. That is why I must make the difference. I must be unrelenting in my fight for others. I understand the toll of the storm. I understand what it means to fight alone. I could not rest knowing I ever turned my back on one deserving or not. My intentions are pure, my heart is genuine and your struggle becomes mine. A storm in any capacity should never be weathered alone.

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