She was the storm
who broke his silence
and made beauty out of his chaos.

But, he preferred the breeze
to comfort him and bury his laments.

She was the wave crashing against the cliff
who asked him to tackle a mountain full of his thoughts.

But he preferred the floating river
that carried his sorrowful vents.

She was the thunderstorm,
Who could keep him awake at nights
and talk about the universe that he hid within himself.

But he preferred the lullaby that hushed him to sleep.

When she was around him,
He could think nothing of her but an ordinary soul.

Now that he reads about her
From the lips of strangers
He either realise what he has lost
or what he could have gained.