For it was 2:45 am,

She was sitting there,

Alone in the dark.

Shifting back and forth upon the rickety wooden rocking chair.

Her hair swaying in the little breeze that intruded through the windows of her rustic log cabin.

The wind was raging and the rain shed like tears down to the ground, thudding against the wood of the roof.

The house was silent.

She was waiting for him, for some sort of relief that it was just a bad storm.

But when the clock struck three, dim and faded headlights shone through the cracks of the door frame.

She sat there aimlessly, waiting for the seconds to pass before he walked through the door.

He tried to be silent, to cover up the footsteps of his boots along the floor.

There was a shadow coming towards her, increasing in size and he turned the corner to see his wife sitting there,

With a tear plunging down her face.

Then it all happened at once.

They moved like ash, dancing within a flame.

But their words were like glass, pane.

He tried to masquerade his lies, but they were still visible in the wrath.

Now would be the time where he was begging for mercy.

Words hit like thunder, crashing in the distance.

Her emotions were like shots from a gun.

The feeling of betrayal burned in her eyes.

She sent him back to somewhere,

The place he never should have been.

The storm moves on,

Out of control,

Deep in her heart,

The Thunder Rolls.





(Last four lines from Garth Brooks- The Thunder Rolls)