Letters Recovered from Soaked Sheets

My Love, As the day bids its farewell to the horizon, the calm weather starts to deteriorate even further. I watch the sea become more lively than it was years ago, and the wind, too overjoyed. The still trees start to dance as if mighty roars of green thunder played loud jazz. As the clock's hands showed a half-sliced pie, hundred and eighty degrees to one another, there, I knew she was gradually making its way to our land. We remained under the mercy of our abode and hoped that she could withstand the overwhelming weather kissing our community. As the seas start to mimic the market's noise, and the wind is tapping each of our galvanized and rusty roofs, and the leaves mock the torrents of the river, you suddenly emerge in my thoughts. Have you ever felt fear? Do you feel well? Positive ions leave my thoughts as electrons build up unending negativities in my mind. Perhaps you fear the prowling thunder walking all the streets in our city. Do you feel gloomy with my absence? At times I stare at the heavy rains falling forty-five degrees to the ground and hope I was at your side, giving you the warmest of my arms to ease the fear you felt, the sadness as well as the longing grasping your shoulders. The night falls deeper, farther than the sunset that happened with the absence of the sun. The trees swayed erratically, and the sky above it, roaring with thunder. Our roofs were now as loud as the mower's motor on the street lawn, and the sea behaved untamed. I wonder what you are up to. I know that this night will be the longest. A sudden tremor shakes our house, indicating that the tip part of our home has fallen. I know that this won't be long. One more quake, and the roofs will be blown off. I will write again soon. We have to attend to our home's integrity and render reinforcements for now. I love you. When the weather passes, I hope to meet you soonest. Take good care of yourself, my love. Without Wax, J.L.