Along With The Thunder

I am chaos, the storm that shatters silence — thunder rolling through the wreckage, still breathing, still burning, still me. They hurt me. Often. And I stayed. Not because I was weak — but because I believed people were more than their wounds. I saw the hidden cracks no one else did. I loved anyway. But the tether snapped. No longer do I chase the lightning that scars but never warms. I care — but I don’t cling. I remember — but I don’t return. No hatred resides here — only a quiet goodbye to the thousand selves who thought love meant bleeding. I am the fire, the lightning’s flash — the storm’s calm eye. I am Chaostrude. Not a title. A becoming.