Storm

My grief no longer feels like the turning of the tides. 
My grief feels like the onset of a deep, dark storm. 
Clouds form,
Anticipation builds,
I prepare. 

Unlike the the tide,
I do not know what the storm will feel like,
I do not know what the storm will do. 
Once it hits there is nothing 
but waiting to see blue skies again. 

Rain pounds the earth,
Saturating everything in the moisture of my memories.  
As tears trace the clenched outline of my jaw,
I am chilled to the bone with the pain of trying to remember how it felt to hear you
To see you
To feel you. 

Thoughts roll through my head like thunder,
Making it impossible to think 
of anything but your face - 
The face that I miss more than the sun itself. 

Slowly, 
As the clouds release their pressure and lighten their burden upon me,
The air becomes less frigid, 
The thunder dissipates, 
The rain is soft. 

The storm passes and the earth beneath my feet smells sweet. 
After some time,
a flower will sprout from the once dry dirt. 
A reminder that just as the earth needs the rain,
I too need this pain to sprout fresh reminders of you.