You’re a flood, seeping through the cracks of my resistance
and wrecking the ships I built to send my memories of you out to sea.
You swallow up the shore and I’m left drowning in your waters.

You’re an earthquake, annihilating what I once believed was stable ground.
The floors I walk on disappear when you do.

You’re a tornado, showing up out of the blue, uprooting any sanity I have left.
The way you leave makes it seem as though there was never anything else before you.

You’re an avalanche.
One wrong move and it all comes crashing down around me.
Overwhelming, suffocating, and all at once.
You consume all that you touch.

I’m more of a car-crash. A careless incident that could have been avoided if someone had just paid closer attention. Or maybe there’s no such thing as an accident, and you were always meant to destroy me. Perhaps in a simpler fashion, like a slow-working poison, infecting my dreams and eating my sleep. I was always meant to be destroyed by you.