IN THE BEGINNING
she loved you like atoms crashing to create stars. crash, implode, shine. or is it explode? you never did well in science. the important bit’s not the middle, it’s the end and the beginning. crash, crash, crash, until your bones are broken and your skin is torn because she doesn’t know how to love you softly. then shine.
IN THE MIDDLE
she loved you like a car crash, like a disaster that was just waiting around at the corner store, sipping iced tea and buying chocolate bars. like something you couldn’t see coming but smelt like your favourite perfume, like clean sheets, like a bright summer day. it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. she made you feel free for a little while.
IN THE END
she didn’t love you well enough, or maybe you didn’t love her. you’ll roll it over in your mind until you’ve warped how it all went down and can’t remember anything right anymore. it’s over, it’s over, that’s it. let it go. the two of you weren’t a good fit and sometimes that’s all there is too it. you were puzzle pieces meant to be half way across the world from one another.
On February 6, an approximately five to seven-meter wide meteor with force comparable to an atomic bomb crashed into the Atlantic ocean off the coast of Brazil, making it the largest to strike earth since Chelyabinsk in 2013, according to Forbes. But don’t get too excited.
Your atoms keep clumsily crashing into mine as if you were a lone Hydrogen atom looking for another to fill your outer shell of electrons to become Hydrogen in it’s diatomic state. A structure comparable to that of Helium, a noble gas.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that there’s a strong affinity between the two of us. That we will always be stronger, and more stable when we are together.