She’s breathtaking, an ephemeral morale boost. A reason to wake up every day. 

You’ll find her breathing for the diver, forty feet below shimmering waves,

In the lift under a gentle glider’s wings, and the buffeting in the back of a car when the windows are open.

She’s a warm breeze through your old porch swing, and the gentle creak of a rusty windmill on a summer night.

Follow her into the night sky and hear her colour, the clouds outside the lines are booming with fury and heavy tears.

Ships go missing when she loses her temper, alter-egos with new names take over and flatten whole cities.

She is also in the crosshairs of every bullet and blow, a witness to hate, powerless, and alone.

Through restless sleep, she’s there to keep you safe. If it ever feels too much, her hands will cup your cheeks, and you’ll remember to breathe.

 

He’s sturdy. He’s trustworthy. You want to settle down with him and raise a family. Or you’d like to think you would.

Somehow, he’s always making things you’d never thought to imagine: kaleidoscopic gardens overflowing with flowers and glittering caves of gemstones.

Go deeper, find his heart, it’ll take some digging but it’s there. Warm and complicated, it keeps his little world ticking over just nicely. 

He’s the snow-capped mountain watching over a lush green forest. Rivers flow like veins in his arms. His deep rolling hills like muscles.

Time stops dead with his lengthy patience. 

Never his fault, never blame him. 

Not a soul has gone untouched when you find him broken and spent days later.

It takes longer to trust him again. Finding your footing gets harder with every relapse.

You will of course. He grounds you. And he makes such beautiful things.

 

You never thought you’d meet someone as calm, as collected, as hard to piss off as them.

They mould around your words, whether they be kind or scathing, always returning to their peaceful quiet before you enter the room.

They’re eloquent, clever beyond their years. Sometimes irritatingly so. They’re always one step ahead of you. No amount of desperate thrashing can keep you afloat.

Perched effortlessly on the stone in front, they’re smiling. The encouraging words stab daggers into your freezing body. Pitiful stares from a God pretending to care.

Being with them is going against the current, against what’s normal, against everything you’ve been told before. 

Being with them is like drowning.

You know you will never be good enough.

 

She’s an old soul. Backwards morals, questionable fashion sense and a tendency to overstep boundaries.

She takes things too far.

Hot-headed in fights, but quick to make the first apology too. She’ll wait until you’ve drifted off to sleep to warm your back, to kiss your neck and turn your ears red.

This leads to: toe-curling make-up sex, a sweaty tangled limbs kind of sleep, a shared breakfast of buttered toast and muttered confessions.

And the cycle begins again. 

Each day adding fuel to her case against you, to her excuse to rile you.

It’s an excruciating process. Having to fall in love with her every single day, only to fall out of it again in the morning.

But you do it. Because you love her. 

Jesus Christ you love her. Her smile, her temper, her gorgeous fucking body, her cuddles.

Guess that’s just how it goes with old flames, huh?