It was cold that day, so much so that I could taste it. The storm was thundering down hard and pellets of rain fell like bullets that dissipated upon contact, leaving a tattoo of liquefied remains where they touched. It was a bad to be out and I knew that myself, but even rationale couldn’t keep me cooped up when the sea underneath felt like a blissful landscape, unmoved and unaffected by the storm up above. I lay, facing the sky, the wavering expanse of vast blue-black, like an imprinted bruise and watched the veins of water ripple above me as the wind tore it to pieces.

It was refreshing to be alone like that; to be surrounded by chaos yet feel so at peace. I remember I just had a fight with Father, again over something trivial but the rage just bubbled to the surface and I couldn’t bear to just be there and take it anymore. It’s like those moments when something stupid sets you off like a loud and boisterous alarm and the only thing you can do to turn it off is to leave as it keeps ringing, to run away from it as fast as you can all the while blocking your ears from the sound.

I swam away, that time in a torpedo of fury. To some isolated valley of cascading waves where I would just pause for a moment and recollect the pieces of myself that had shattered as I absconded. It was dark too but glimmers enough that I could see; lying supine I looked up and wondered if I was to be trapped like this, in a fishbowl for all eternity. I calmed down after a while but looking back now, it seemed stupid that I was so angry and I don’t even know what it was about.

What mattered was that I met you that day and I guess it’s all that counts.