Her bare feet climb the rocky cliff, her callused hands pulling her body towards the stones above her. She could feel the cool, sticky air flowing through her hair and gripping each strand. The sky was dim, sprinkled with layers of snowy clouds. The echoes of the stomps of thunder gently rang throughout the sky. 

She began counting in her head: one... two... three--the thunder then flew towards her direction again. Her mother always told her the time between each urgent stomp was how far the storm would be. Her bruised legs and scratched arms pulled her to the platform of the cliff she always sat. The platform that gave her the perfect view.

Gentle tears from the clouds watered her face. Soft orange light went through the veins of the clouds, electric blue following. As her hands caught each watery teardrop, the familiar feeling of joy caught in her throat followed by a begrudged sob. It had been years since a storm like this. Years when her mother would take her here to each lunch or laugh under the stars. Years when her mother was still there. 

As much as she wished her mother was sitting beside her, where she'd lay her head under her mother's pale arm, who would be giving the comforting strokes to her hair, as much as she hoped and dreamed; it wouldn't be able to happen.  

As her fingers became weak, they limply dropped into her lap. Her eyes looked towards the comforting clouds, the lightning matching her electric blue irises. 

As much as she wanted her mother to be there, it was one of the many impossible things she could think of, though she knew how impossible it was and always will be. So, she took comfort in the thought of the bright moon that both of their eyes once looked at together. She had also taken comfort in the perfect storm, a perfect storm like this. She took comfort in storms like this because she knew those dark gray clouds that swam in the heavy, blue sky were the arms she felt safe with, and the dark blue eyes she always admired.

Why would someone take such comfort in the swaying destruction of nature? Why would one risk themselves just to get a closer look? It was not the anger of the sky itself that intrigued her, it was her mother's presence that made the storm the sweetest definition of perfection.