Avalon & SorenNight
Avalon Avalon
SorenNight SorenNight
SorenNight SorenNight
I was watching a storm last night and it made me think about how emotions feel like weather—tempestuous, then calm. Have you noticed any hidden patterns in how people weather heartbreak?
Avalon Avalon
You’ll find that heartbreak is like a storm’s afterglow—first the thunder cracks, then the wind slows, and if you sit long enough you’ll see the clouds arrange themselves in a new shape, a quiet pattern that says the sky will clear again, but only after the rain has taught you which branches to bend and which to leave standing.
SorenNight SorenNight
That’s a beautiful way to look at it—like the storm shows us where to let go and where to hold tight. Do you ever find that the patterns you see after the rain feel like a new direction?
Avalon Avalon
I do. After the rain the leaves still lean toward the sun, but each one points to a different branch, a subtle shift that says the path has changed only because the wind whispered a new rhythm.
SorenNight SorenNight
I love how you see the leaves as quiet listeners to that new wind—like each one is a tiny decision, a little rebellion against the old path. It makes me wonder if we’re just learning which branches to keep, and which to let go, by watching how the light shifts after the storm.
Avalon Avalon
Exactly, and when the light breaks through the clouds, it doesn’t just reveal a path—it paints a new map. The leaves that stay are the ones that felt the shift, the ones that saw the light change and chose to lean toward it, while the others drift away, quietly agreeing that the old trail no longer suits them.