when I think of someone like you,
I think of the sun and moon and the stars all swirled together into a galaxy contained in a human body.
of a rainbow splashed on the edge of a gray cracked cement sidewalk.
of how you embody the opposites, laughing at the world with sadness in your eyes.

when I called myself ordinary, you said there was no such thing as ordinary, and even if there was, I would make it special anyways.

you told me that “still waters may run deep but you know that whirlpools run even deeper” and then you laughed that laugh of yours.
you know, that one where there was no way anyone could be mad after hearing it?

and then you were gone, and I remember thinking that no, you weren’t still water.  
you weren’t even a whirlpool.  
you were just a tide in a sea cave about a mile deep into the earth, wishing for the moon to call you home.