Eye of the Storm

I’ve been waiting many hours in the eye of the storm. There’s an overwhelming calm, all the while the world is covered in snow, luminescent in your glow. Tell my friends I’m gone. Tell them I’m gone for good. In passing, I see the wreckage, tethered pieces of your home— shattered glass, footprints fading in white, a door left swinging in the wind. I step forward, but the storm moves with me.