There is a calmness after a storm to remind you nothing is permanent; not even the storms that once roared so fiercely, not even the calmness after. There is no calmness when he walked away but there was no storm either, his footsteps werent puddles and he wasnt a rain cloud. The house didnt shake and the furniture didnt rattle the only thing that did, was your frame but there was no calmness because inside you was a hurricane composed of regret and remorse and confusion and longing shook you in every thought you harboured and ached in every breath you took until it was too much to contain and you see the storm in your eyes and hear the thunder in your screams. You wonder what you can do the calm the raging storm what can you do; sixteen is not an adequate age to be handling storms well enough to not leave a mess of an aftermath. But all storms will eventually cease and so will this, and in the silence of the night you are kept awake trying to remember the calmness before the storm, and after it. Outside the wind is howling and it is a beautiful sound; the downpour steady, it keeps you at peace and before the soft cosmic rays of dawn reaches your windowsill on nights like these,you anticipate another storm.