"Tempestuous..." I whispered to myself as I drove back home. Why is it that I find a certain destruction so attractive? I wish I can give an explanation for this, but I think I have always been this way.
I kind of think the messes we create are...amazing. It adds a tornado of passion and desire and color. It is so full of wrong and sometimes wrong is just so much better than right. I think the really good things in life deserve that mess. It deserves that effort and energy and pain and perhaps even suffering from us. It deserves that turbulence inside us that shakes us up. It tests our capabilities, our endurance, and the entirety of ourselves. I think a lover would know exactly what I mean, maybe.
But aside from all that, I think I have a new favorite word. It is still strange to me having known a word for years and years and its meaning hanging in the back of my mind but never actually meaning anything until one fateful day. It does not happen too often, but it surely does happen. Today is one fateful day.
"Tempestuous," I whispered again and again, continuing a thread of thought each time I whispered it. The word has never sound more beautiful to me than it does now.
But aside from all that, I think I have a new favorite word. It is still strange to me having known a word for years and years and its meaning hanging in the back of my mind but never actually meaning anything until one fateful day. It does not happen too often, but it surely does happen. Today is one fateful day.
"Tempestuous," I whispered again and again, continuing a thread of thought each time I whispered it. The word has never sound more beautiful to me than it does now.
