She Exists

She exists in breeze kissed curtains on a Sunday morning
and mascara scarred sheets on a Sunday night.
She speaks tornado,
loves in flash floods,
and she's got an eye for hurricanes.
She believes in weathering storms,
battening down the hatches,
and holding on white knuckled until they pass.
She lives and she breathes in picking up the pieces,
and she's always existed in the aftermath.