There once lived a boy so handsome her heart cracked into a million little pieces when she saw him sleep. They saw sunsets together, sunrises, but not that often. They saw the forest, the rocks, the angry sea in a magical storm. Mountains and fires, midnights and broken glass, san chao bow, rawness, markets, babaganoush secrets, reality, humanity, the dark night of the soul, the ephemeral lightness of being. One stormy Monday it struck her that summer felt like such a long time ago. The woman he fell in love with was fierce, brave and strong. The woman he woke up to was not doing so well. He never changed. He was light and life and enduring sunlight. It was unfair. This general pervasive unfairness. She wanted better for him.
He had this way, this thing, when they walked, where he put one arm around her shoulder and she would hold his hand and she put one arm around his waist which he would hold. They were like a figure 8 somehow. He made her feel safe, as safe as that kind of girl could ever feel. He was strong and brave and fierce but never hurt anyone or made anyone feel scared. He told her to stop being batsh*t insane, with a smile. He came home one night, it was dark, he wasn't sure what he was coming home to. He knew she was sick. She was deep in narcoleptic escape. She cried when she saw him. It felt like it had been forever and a day.
He deserved way better than a broken fairy.
She would get better for him
