Metaphors are easier than the reality.
This is an old piece and it's very simple. I've always seen myself more as a boy. It's interesting to reflect on but also add another part to the story.
Part 1
Once there was a boy. Everyday after completing his schoolwork he would go outside and ride his bike. It was bliss. He loved it, everything about it, the sun on his cheeks, the birds singing, the wind in his face. He was happy.
One day a dark cloud loomed over the sun just as he was about to go for his bike ride. He rode his bike but the sun was gone, the warmth and happiness that filled him was suddenly stolen from him. The wind was no longer pleasant, it was cold and painful. The birds were suddenly quiet as if they were hiding.
The next day the cloud came back even darker than before. The next day it rained and his sister told him that God was crying. But it really felt like he was crying, he couldn't ride his bike.
The cloud never left, it was always there all day everyday. Sometimes the sun would manage to shine through the cloud or the cloud couldn't catch up with the sun. The sun was nice but he knew it would always leave again. He still rode his bike everyday as unpleasant as it became. What else was there for him to do?
One day the cloud turned into a swarming, spiraling tunnel. It took away his bike. The rest of the day the cloud remained thick and dark. The boy had to walk, his bike was gone. His parents didn't have the money for a new bike. Even if they did he would never ask.
The winds became more and more harsh. The wind stung his eyes and dried them to the point of tears running down his face. He quickly wiped them away.
The next few years were the same. Only on rare occasions would the sun shine through the cloud. The spiraling winds came more often than the sun did taking something else with them every time.
Eventually the boy stopped walking altogether it was too painful and no longer pleasant. The days became weeks, the weeks became months, and the months became years. Nothing really changed. He lost hope. He lost everything. His love for the sun and everything that surrounded him was gone. Everything became nothing, the boy became numb.
The boy plans on leaving this town. He hopes the cloud will stay behind. It has to it's all the hope he has left. He's been waiting to leave for so long. The simple thought of staying or having to come back frightens him to his core. If leaving doesn't work he feels there would be no hope. He doesn't think he could handle an eternity with this cloud. It's already driven him so close to defeat so many times. The future is his only hope. If he doesn't succeed there would be no reason for him to keep going. He knows he would accept defeat this time. There is nothing more terrifying. The possibility itself makes him shake and ache inside and out.
Part 2
The boy left town, got his own bike, saw the sun more, and learned how to enjoy his life. The cloud never really left and the hopelessness returned but he was still able to move forward.
He found love in the big city. He felt like he was part of something. He became someone who walked with purpose. He loved how everyone could be so close yet remain in their own little world. He became the main character to his own story. He wanted to be a side character in the story of others. He had real friends who helped him see the sun more often.
The winds eventually came back and they were stronger than ever this time. They took everything. The sun, the friends, the hopes, the dreams, even his new home. It was all gone. He didn't know what to do or what was left.
Once again he was completely alone and surrounded by the darkness. The only thing that was there for him was drugs. The pain in his bones worsened. His existence made him sick. He wanted everything that was bad for him and nothing that was good. He was living in hell before he was even dead. He felt like he had died.
He suffered his way back to the city. He was still alone, it was still hard to see the sun. But the sun still came through and the love he had for the city came back to him. It was constant and he knew he was never alone there surrounded by the color and poetry of the experiences. He went for more walks. He learned to try to love himself even in his darkness.
The cloud never leaves. The only thing that really changes is him. He learned how to find the sun on his own and love it while it was there instead of dreading the return of the cloud. He learned he didn't need things the winds took from him. He had himself and always would. He no longer needed anyone or anything. He began to love his cloud and the feeling of the cold rain on his warm skin. He learned to love and live after he had died.
THE END