The sky before the storm maybe It’s my soul


I love the sky before the storm. Once so blue and alive, seemingly unbreakable, now collapsed with the sound of great silence. Silence before the thunder. Once full of color now faded, weak, clear. You can see every crack, every wound all those scars. You can see how fragile it really is, how colors get washed away easily. All it takes is one grey cloud. Yet, the clearance of it, all the visible cracks make it look so beautiful, mesmerizing. Beauty in pain.  Maybe it’s the same with me. Maybe the sky before the storm is my heart. Maybe that’s why I have been alone for my entire life. People can see. They admire from the far but when it rains they hide. Maybe it’s the same with clear souls like mine. They find peace in watching our storm form. When it comes, they are gone.

Am I alone or do you clear the sky with me? Do we all form a canvas of admiration or are we here just to wash away the dirt? Maybe behind our greyness hides the sun and that’s what they are waiting? Or maybe the sun is millenniums behind.

Lacking positivity 

But always, lots of love, Ellodie