She always seems to be in the eye of storm.

All around her the storm rages on, destroying every single thing in its wake, changing things and creating miracles. She was just a spectator, not a participant. Protected but isolated.

All until it became too much, too much was at stake. So she stepped forward, right into the storm. 

The first few steps were exhilarating, she was stunned by the sudden assault of wind and the rain that fell so hard as if trying to drown her alive. 

Then it became harder to breathe, air seeming to left behind at the centre of the commotion. So she did what any sane person would do, she went back.

But now the eye of the storm felt more warm, it felt like coming home. It was safe, but she already had a taste of the storm and how in world could she stay away for it? So she went again and again, stepping into the storm but ultimately making her way back home.

Again and again. Why, you may ask? Why do something only to come back? She often asked herself the same question.

Maybe it was the allure of danger? But then she realised no.

The allure was the comfort of coming back from the storm, back to the warm air and its comforting embrace. 

She is still in the eye of storm, but the storm changed her just like her surroundings.