Storms rise in their wake, trails that bear torments, anguish and silent rage; they all blend into tempests - the kind that shatter thoughts, break hearts and wither souls, devoid the being of any feeling or any semblance of emotion; one finds himself utterly vulnerable, naked to the world. All that they were, all that they are is instantaneously wiped away, leaving behind an empty shell, a clean slate, leaving way for a new start, maybe a better one. Perhaps the best of all possible ones.

 A blessing in disguise, this could turn out to be as, with no ties to attach us to anything or anyone, unadulterated freedom can be attained. Although freedom in itself is so fleeting and, for its promise of happiness, almost impossible to grasp, one can eventually settle for the illusion of freedom created by an imperfect world.