Sometimes, after going through a tough time, a time when you forget to breathe or bathe, listen to commiserations and prayers, hear out pleas and platitudes, run through reserves of promises and tears, when you are somewhat out of it; at least enough to know that as long as there’s life, there’s hope. When you come to that stage when you are spent and look back at what happened, with fury or peace, and you remember... that while every one was there for you... no-one hugged.
Except, there were these:
The embrace of a storm. The warmth of a womb.