By Aundréa Murray
We were warned. Everyone tried to warn us. The heat from our unbidden passion set off alarms and red flags all around us. We knew this was a dangerous situation. Hmpf, “situation”; as if that’s what it should called. But with every warning comes anticipation. Anticipation that this entire “situation” will just blow over. No. That won’t happen. With all of the low blows we blow at each other in hopes of blowing off steam, it’s a shocker that we’re still standing tall; almost tree-like. Trees last a lifetime, and so would’ve our “situation” had we not blew past each other’s feelings in a world-wind of fury. Now tears, wetter than raindrops, soak the pillow I use for protection and security through our heavy blows. Drowning me with thoughts, I’m choking on our emotions. My sobs boom as the pain of this “situation” strikes me from every angle, lightening fast. Hitting me in the same place twice; proving to me that superstitions aren’t real. “Evacuate” is all the advice I’ve been given. “Protect yourself before it gets out of hand.”. No one understood that this was one storm I could not help but chase. Its unpredictable course intrigued me. The possibilities of its damage fascinated me. I yearned to endure it without a scratch on me… Now all I’m left with is the debris of what’s left of my relationship, and my thoughts on how I even survived her hurricane..