Eye of the storm

Alone on a Sunday night after a long day at the beach, I can still taste salt on my lips, and feel his warm hands on my skin. Too distracted to sleep, my emotions come in tumultuous waves of contradictions. At once drowning in regret over a shipwrecked affair, then grasping for the new lifeline that’s been thrown to me.

Before a tornado strikes, the maelstrom bears down like a fierce freight train. When a hurricane makes landfall, as the tempest swells, it’s perfectly calm and quiet inside the eye.

Do I reboard the train or stand in the eye?