You are a hurricane that sweeps me off my feet, a whirlwind of emotions that wrecks my heart's beat. My words were nothig to you, they were fallen leaves tossed around in the wind, every sight of you is like the northeast monsoon, your smell, touch and voice brings about the rush of a december's chill.
As the dewy petrichor settled on the post-rain afternoon, I still felt the emptiness that accompanies the disaster you have left. You were not only a storm but you are also the horrors that came along with it. The waves of a tsunami that threatens to breakfree out of my eyes, the rumbles of an earthquake that makes my body shiver.
An eerie stillness surrounded me, the small pitter patter of raindrops hitting the roof was a cacophonic orchestra thundering on my cloud. The storm has passed, but I haven't felt serenity. The unspoken thoughts inside my head are loud as the thunderclaps. My voice still cracks after the quake of you. I long for the sunrays of your warmth, I long for the melody of your laughter.
I still don't know why they name storms after people, maybe because after the storm. You have to remember its name. You have to remember what scars it left and this time I couldn't seem to leave yout ruins. I'm still in your dismantled hollow blocks, still in your flickering lamp posts, still in your cataclysmic downpour.
If I had to name this storm,
I'd name it after you.
My disastrous memory,
My lingering catastrophe.