Aftermath

I remember a night when I was alone with my father in our little home. I think I was 7 back then, and as young as I remember myself to be, my mind was curious - but innocent - and somehow, naive.

The sky was dark and the wind was roaring with rage. It was only 5pm, yet the sun was a total no-show. No kids were playing on the streets, no cars passing-by. Thunders occur from time to time, followed by the flash of lightning, the crashing sound making me hide under our little coffee-table. 

My 7 year old logic was able to guess what was going on: that a storm was about to happen. To which I later on figured that I was half-right, because it wasn't just an ordinary storm. It was a tempest.

My father gently pulled me out of our coffee-table with arms wide open, and his tone mild and securing. He tells me it's okay, he tells me he'll keep me safe.

When I was in his arms the first thing he asked me was if I'm afraid of the storm. As if it wasn't obvious, I nodded my head in response.

My father smiled. To which he replied, and I remember the exact words he said; the storm is nothing to be afraid of. It's not the storm that you should be worried about. For it only lasts for hours. Soon it will leave the certain area, ready to move on to another place to wreck. The storm is disastrous, but passing. 

What you should worry about, kiddo, is the aftermath. For unlike the storm - it lasts. The departure of the storm is only the beginning of the mayhem, not the ending itself. For when the storm is gone and all, the debris it leaves behind is much more painful to bear. 

My 7 year old mind could not quite make an understanding of what my father told me. I was young, and my mind was curious - but innocent - and somehow, naive.

Not until I was 19, and in love with you. 

Only then did I realize - having you in my life is more like a storm. Disastrous, but passing. And when you left - the aftermath was unbearable.