The storm

I sat on the window and I witnessed droplets begun to pour Loneliness got me, so I sat on my bedroom floor To just feel the coldness run to my skin Hoping for solace, yet lost in quiet echoes within. The wind whispers at me, its voice cold as ice Each rumble of thunder a roll of a turbulent splice. Should I be scared, by its fierce blaze and loud roars? Does it make me less of a fighter? if I stand still and not fight my love for a stranger. All I knew, we cannot control the storm A rage that twists and turns in a furious form. Does the wound we carry make us weaker? Or does it strengthen the heart of a loud listener? - trxziexiia_