Loving him was like a warm gust of wind during the summer, blowing your hair back and whispering past your ears.
It was like apple orchards and abandoned shacks,
crisp white sheets stained crimson red by a nose bleed,
the carpet burn on my knees,
the lights, camera, action.
The flash, the flame.
Loving him was like broken glass digging into the soles of your feet,
like clenched fists and bruised bones,
hot breath and dialated eyes.
Loving him was like acid settling into my spine.
Loving him was a breath of fresh air that turned into lung cancer.