There are two types of people,
The wind and the leaf,
Guess which one am I...

I'm being blown in all different directions by this wind called life,
Destined to wilt and fall on the ground.

But I guess we're all leaves after all.
We start of as a bud, unfurling into a vibrant green leaf.
As seasons change, we turn to brilliant shades of red, orange, or yellow, before falling to the ground.

But the difference is there are those who live like the wind and those who are like me.
Who only get to rest when there's no wind,
Get peace when there's no wind,
Be in control when there's no wind,
But that's like saying when there's no wind, there's no life.
When there's no life, I'll live.

In solitude I retreat,
a hermit seeking solace.
Depression, my companion,
wrapping me in its Melancholic shroud.

I sever threads of connection,
Words become heavy stones,
and I carry them alone.

If possible, I seek forgiveness for my withdrawal,
For it is not you I flee from,
but the tempest within that threatens to consume me.

When storms rage, I seek refuge
in the caves of my mind,
where echoes of past battles revive.

But know this, my tender-hearted muse,
Your tears are constellations,
each drop a universe of hurt.

I ache to see your face again.
Yet my hands tremble,
afraid that their touch will unravel storms.

So here I stand silent,
Know that my withdrawal is not apathy,
but a dance of desperation.

When the tempest subsides,
when I emerge from my self-imposed exile,
I'll trace constellations upon your skin, and
and whisper, "I was lost, but now I'm found."

For in silence, I seek healing,
and in your eyes, I find my North Star.

Where's my rainbow after the rains,
Where's my calm after the storm,
Where's my light at the end of the tunnel,
Where's my peace after the war,
Where's my dawn after the darkness,
Where's my joy after the sorrow?
Where's my, "finally it's over"?