He was the storm I wasn’t prepared for. The kind that sweeps you off your feet and destroys everything around you in the process. The kind that places a 9 ton anchor in your life just to mark their presence and leave almost instantly, leaving you to stare in awe and bewilderment at the hole you’ve seemingly dug to bury yourself.
Submerged in dirt; knees deep and begging you to destroy what you left behind, I was screaming at the blue skies to bring you back.
It was beautiful and disastrous and I wanted more.
I wanted more distraction. More misery. More love.
More of everything related to you.
His force, like a gust of strong wind toppled me over. And I, a usually strong, sturdy, sensible person, fell over.
Crashing to the floor and slamming against walls, and the only thing I had to hold on to; during this whirlwind of a hurricane that I began to crave like an addiction; was your hands that seemed to fit perfectly around the curves of my body. As you traced my skin with your heavy breathing and finger tips, I couldn’t help but notice, that they found a place to call home.
As you tossed your arms around my quivering body, determined to shelter my shaking bones from the beautiful damnation of yourself, we tossed and twirled in a dizzy state of confusion. Beautiful and disastrous at the same time.
He was a storm that I didn’t want to end. He was a storm that I wanted every day. He was a perfect storm.