Today, I walked through the most beautiful of thunderstorms. The only thing I could have done without is my feet getting so damn wet.
I love a good thunderstorm, I didn’t always, but I think I love a good storm because I am one.
Like, your girl has come a long way from her days of being so terrified of storms that she had to believe it was just God bowling against the Devil and kicking his ass (true life that’s what made me feel better).
My (step)grandfather, the only man I’ve know as such even though he is not my blood, actually taught me how to appreciate a good storm.
Sitting on the stairs of his beach house and watching a storm roll in is freaking amazing man.
I am forever in awe of nature. It reminds you of how small you are, how many things you take for granted, how beautiful even the seemingly ugliest of things can truly be.
Your girl is not scared of storms anymore, because she is a storm.
Me and all my complexities, I am a beautiful storm. A storm that is going to leave everyone in awe. A storm that is a lot to handle, but worth withstanding for the beauty that comes at the end of every storm.
It’s easy to get caught up in the bad things in life, it’s easy to not live life out of fear of having to weather a storm, but in my life I’ve found that storms are always worth sticking out. Beauty and good truly do come of the ugliest and worst things.
As us Latinos would say “no hay mal que por bien no venga”.