It was an endless storm of confusion, anguish, denial, anger, and hurt. Always hurt.

Its fury swept over her as she huddled upon the shore, its waves cold, brutal, and intent on her destruction. She held on to nothing but the hope of its end.

Endured. Waited. Believed.

Years passed before the storm's rage lost its hunger, and with its silence—calm, clarity. Peace.

She rose, weak and raw with hope. Let it be over, she breathed. Let it be finished.

The gentle lap of soft waves touch the storm-smoothed shore, its debris long gone, cleansed by the ocean swells of her heart.

On the horizon, the soft light of a new day.

And written across the sky—hard truths and ugly lies. Neither hurt her anymore. She embraced them. Allowed them to be. Just be.

A thousand memories assemble into the pages of a book. A chronicle of time. She leafs through the hurt, the sorrow, the desperation, the hopes longed for and lost, feeling nothing but gratitude.

It was a thing that happened. A passage of time, of place.

A beginning.

An ending.

She places the book upon its shelf, where it belongs. Where it was always meant to be. It melts into the dying stars of the night.

Her heart calls to her once more.

Live. Dream. Love

She smiles and walks away.