It was only one night, but his hands running down her back and his lips on her neck seem to be a broken record in her head. It’s not that she misses his smell or the spark of his skin on hers; she craves touch. Any touch. She craves the touch of his arm on hers or their fingers laced. She misses the touch of his breath on her ear as he whispers sweet nothings. But a “he” is just that, and any he will do, and it’s one thing to be alone but another to be lonely. It’s 1:05 in the morning and she’s drunk but he’s the only one on her mind. And him, and him too. Her head spins and her ears are ringing with the words she should have screamed aloud a long time ago, but the worst thing about falling to pieces is that humans do it so quietly. No one hears her heart crack or the soft patter of dripping blood on new, white sheets, and no one can hear her mismatched breaths as she tries to find someone a little better than him. She’s lying in her bed, in her house, and all she wants to do is go home.
Her eyes glow when she talks about the things she loves; I mean, they really glow, kid, and they glow for hours after. I tell my mother that the sound of her laugh is happiness in concentrate. Her eyes, green pools of swirling madness, hold nothing short of passion and intelligence. Her brilliance radiates through her; she can cure sadness with a grin. Her smile is sunshine, let me tell you. But none of these do her justice, no, she is serenity and she is peace all in one. She brings so much happiness and joy to those around her; I genuinely pity those who have never been touched by her grace.
But when the night goes cold and the sun sets behind her favorite clouds, her eyes grow dark and weary. The once vibrant smile can no longer hold up the world. How is it that someone so strong, so powerful, can crumble under the weight of darkness? How is it that someone with so much eagerness to experience, rather than just exist, no longer finds the energy to lift her head from the pillow? Her eyes go glassy and she puts her head on my chest, and in this moment, she gives me her strength and her power. As tidal waves pour out of her eyes and crash into my chest, I know.
I know I love her. God, she is mine, and I love her. I love her in the darkest moments; I love her when the sun shines through her eyes, bringing warmth to her surroundings, and I love her when the shadows behind her eyes move through her, too. I love her when she can conquer the world or when she no longer is determined to live past the morning. I love her when she crumbles under the weight of the world. I love her when she wants to cry but she won’t. I love her in everything that she ever was and everything that she ever will be. I pull her closer and whisper in her ear, “Tomorrow the sun will rise again, and we will be okay. You will be okay, and we will try once more.”