Some stand on the shore, torn between the pull of two tides, afraid to lose sight of either horizon.

Between the Currents

The heart

can be moored to two shores at once

each tide whispering, stay,

each wind urging, go.

It is a quiet war,

standing where loyalties divide,

where the bridge beneath your feet

sways with every choice.

but of faces,

A hurricane passes through

not of weather,

words,

and silences.

It tears away the soft things,

flings petals into the dark,

strips truth bare

until it stands trembling in the open air.

When the winds settle,

you walk among what remains

the stones still rooted,

the flowers that refused to bow,

the empty chairs

where once there was warmth.

And you wonder

not how to rebuild,

but whether the house you knew

was ever truly standing.

Some storms

are not meant to be outrun.

They are meant to be sat with,

until the ache becomes a compass,

until the waves return

what was meant to remain.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

This is part of an unfolding journey through storms that test our footing and winds that strip us bare. Each piece in this series is a step through the wreckage, into the quiet after, where perspective begins to take root. Tomorrow, the tide shifts again and what it carries will not be what it left behind.