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Weather the storm

Art by Jakub Kujawa

They say you’ve got to weather the storm

to enjoy the pleasant days

but it’s 2 AM and there’s a storm in my head;

raindrops hammering my window,

as tears fall to the floor.

I don’t know who you are anymore.

I think about all those nights ago

raindrops falling on my roof as

we discussed the meaning of life.

You told me it means nothing.

I gave you a look.

“You make it feel like something,” you say quietly.

That was the beginning of the ending.

Streams of emotions pouring out.

“But it’s better left unsaid” you mumble


“I have this wall around me. It’s a dam;

It’s not a floodgate you want to open. Not now”

I’ll hold you to your word, I tell myself.

And now there’s a river between you and me,

filled with all those “would have been”s and “maybe”s

“Maybe you were right, I did overreact”

“We would have been okay if I just let you make that anxiety joke”

“Maybe you were right, my fears were irrational”

“We would have been happier if I just listened to you

about what was wrong with me”

The sweet water in the spring from when the ice

around your heart melted

Is now drying up; adulterated by every grain of salt

that I began to take your words with;

only to be replaced by

angry tears and sweaty frustration

that put a sea of divide between us.

As we drift apart,

you're afloat,

going further,

leaving me to dive these depths alone.

I can feel myself sinking.

As if I had rocks at my feet

pulling me down;

As if my hands were tied

and no matter how hard I tried

I couldn’t swim out.

I think of how stupid I was to let you go;

how I should have just gone with the flow.

I wouldn’t have to fight this misery alone;

I try and drown in my sorrows

but my feet find solid ground,

our journeys brought me here,

it's a new land I've found.

Freedom, they called it.

And as I walked ashore,

the breath of fresh air brought with it


The rocks around my legs

that kept pulling me down

were your hardened hands,

tugging at them to thrust yourself up.

The weight of your insecurities

on your shoulder had become

my indescribable heaviness.

Your unreliability

turned into my paranoia.

Your covert jibes?

My anxiety, my insecurities,

and the realisation dawned on me.

I see you, far away, barely a speck;

probably nose deep in regret,

waving a hand,

calling out to me

I simply turn,

basking in my newfound liberation.

This Night Owl Original has been authored by Surabhi Parakhi. Surabhi is an aspiring journalist from Bangalore with a love for writing. An ardent reader, you can find her buried in a book at any given time.


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