the storm resides in the very back of my head for years now. The only fact to grasp for hope is that this too shall pass; the words swirl back and forth, like a chant losing its magic, without anymore meaning. Yet it shall pass. It should, because the law simply forbids any endlessness to exist.
Then there sadly came whispers, asking, "what if this was the last storm we may weather?", "what if, what if storms, the grandest curse and blessing of men, have always bound to recede?" What would we have left?