Reading Time: 2 min
You were the fire to my storm,
Burning me with passion,
Painting me with colours of warmth,
Bringing form to my amorphous self.
But all fires die down, all storms pass,
Leaving me with nebulous vague fugue,
The wind never dies but
Fire runs out of things to blaze
And cinders cover the earth to brim,
Still, I gust through the ash, solemnly grim.
I love the symbolism of the elements in my writing. Fire, wind, water, and earth find their way into whatever I envision. Few things are more painful than being the one who is left behind. But survival is not too bad. A storm is still a storm.
This image was clicked Kaziranga National Park. Check out A Delayed Waiting for another perspective of heartbreak and follow me on Instagram for more travel photographs.
