As I struggle to overcome the turmoil inside myself, nature openly corresponds with the pain in my soul. The tempest rails outside. My ears are sore from the cold wind which beat about my head as I walked the hill back to my residence hall. Small gusts of snow bit at my cheeks and stung my eyes, forcing yet more tears to trickle down my face, burning my freezing skin as I fought to avoid both pains.
This weather has everyone feeling the agony of winter, yearning for April when sunny days are more prevalent than the prevailing winds. Yet despite the suffering the tumult causes me, I cannot help but feel comforted by the rushing wind and the bitter cold. It feels like home, somehow, although my body protests any such idea. Maybe it reminds me of some happier emotional time when the weather was similar, or perhaps something wonderful is on its way into my life. I prefer to hope for the latter, and for a moment the barren feeling of despair dissipated and I smiled into the wind. I can feel it in the atmosphere: something is coming.
Almost as though the wind is speaking only to me, I know that extraordinary things are about to happen to me, things that will make up for the miserable events that have lately had me feeling beaten, destroyed. I will be born anew, fresh with life and love and nothing can take that away from me.
Nothing can stop me now.
I broke up with a boy on Sunday, someone I thought I'd be with for a long time. Last night we called it off forever, no chance of getting back together. I need this, and yet it hurts like someone stuck a knife in my ribs, twisted it, removed it, then left me lying in a ditch to bleed to death. Writing seems pointless and whiny right now, but it was something I had to do.