I once believed that you could do nothing for me.
“There is no zealot like the convert,” as they say – and I conquered my own cross. All I knew was an emotional climate borne of the tropics: from wild hurricanes through thunderous rains to burning rays. I refused to take you at your word.
Please know that this was not by choice: I had been plunged into a vacuum from which I could not break free. All I knew was pain.
But eventually, subtly; you weathered my storms. You helped me find myself again.