You went out in search of storm and came back with more than you’d bargained for. And suddenly your hands are full of too much rain and you don’t know where to put it all down and you’re not even sure that you want to. Maybe you were bored, or maybe you wanted to be thrown around a little. Maybe there’s something about dangerous things that remind you of the times you were young and you touched burning flames even though you knew it would hurt. Or the first woman you loved who broke your heart and it felt good at the same time. You know pain now, you know how to survive it. Maybe that’s what it was. You just wanted to survive again.
The thing is, before you left, everything was gentle and safe and never overwhelming. You had time to think and uncoil yourself. You were lazy Sundays and sun filled afternoons that felt so good against your skin you thought you’d never want to leave that place again. And why would you? For a tempest? For a fist clutching a spark of lightning? For the burn? And now you’re confused because you’re torn between the safe thing and the thing that will probably ruin you and it’s funny because it hurts and it’s funny because you did it to yourself and it’s not funny because it fucking hurts.
You just know that you can’t have both. You can either stand in the middle of all that brutal and let it wash you up or you can find that safe place and let it be soft for you. But when you’re standing halfway through that storm, and you’re drenched through and your skin is turning itself inside out, and you’re shivering and it’s terrifying and you’ve never felt more fucking alive. That’s it, that’s what you came looking for. You found it. Congratulations. Are you going to hold onto it?"