He is a hurricane in my throat. A burning in my chest. A sickness in my stomach.

You are the lozenge that soothes my torn up throat, the aloe vera for my singed heart, the calm my nervous belly.

You are cool waves that sway me back to safety after his harsh waves of words have carried me so far out.

You teach me how to sing again without being afraid of my own voice.

You do this by showing me that you are afraid of your own as well,
but you still sing above everyone else.

And for that, I love you.

I knew this girl.
A beautiful girl.
Prettier than any other girl I had met.
She  was a one in a million kind of girl.
Not many were like her.
And she swore they all wanted to be her.
But I loved her nonetheless.

She took these photos, beautiful, magnificent photos.
I would look forward to them.
They provided a certain service for her.
They filled a void.
They were personal.
Artistic.
Special.
But they were not simply of her.
They were of her mind.
Her soul, her heart.

That girl.
One day she stopped taking those photos.
She lost her mind,
She lost her soul,
She lost her spirit,
She lost her will.
Her spark was gone.


To this day, I still miss those photos.