She was one of those girls. Easy to love, bright, but when the season changed she was full of rain and overflowing gutters. I could get an umbrella, even a small boat to ride her waves, but she would always sink me. Just before I could drown in her waters she would give me CPR in the form of Spring kisses. Rays of sun shone through her eyes.
For two years I managed to survive through her storms just long enough to bask in her ever flitting warmth. Our one year anniversary threatened to rip me limb from limb, she was a tornado that day. Flowers and home made pasta blew away her storm clouds, just barely.
When two years rolled around I must have looked like a weathered sailor, knowing the exact moment to pull the sails, or when to just hang on and ride the rolling seas. So when she sat down one day and said,
“I can’t do this anymore.”
I just froze, caught completely off guard.
“I love you like…a brother.”
I started taking my ship into shore, to retire, maybe become a mountain man.
“I can’t talk to you…”
I pulled into the harbor, turned around, and set my vessel on fire. No more storms for me, no more blessed, tropical trips either. As the tip of my ship’s mast sank into the water, I let out a sigh of relief, shaved my beard, and disappeared down the coast.