She was.
Her hands were the prettiest part of her. Smudges of paint, pencil and life tattooed on her skin.  The nostalgic scent of sweat, smoke,  and flowers mingled into one in a heavy cloud.   The adrenaline-filled feeling of falling so far down that I thought we were floating all the while. All I know is that it happened like that. I don’t know how or when or even why. All I know is that I am hopelessly, irrevocably, and uncontrollably in love with the thought of her.
We fell for each other like the moon and the sun. Crashing against one another, her fluid ocean against my tall mountains. Weeks blended into days into hours into minutes into seconds until I could no longer tell the difference. She raised, tore me up and broke me down again. A repentless cycle, an endless continuum. Like a drug, I couldn’t get enough of her.
I met her on a wrong turn, a mistake. She was the best mistake of my life, and giving her up was my only mistake. I didn't plan on falling in love that summer. I didn't plan on a lot of things. One minute she was the girl who swam in the lake, who lay in the field, who walked on the beach; the next minute she was mine.
Mine, indeed she was. The way her name melted in my mouth, pressed against my lips demanding that I let it go. Our love wasn’t beautiful or gentle, it was a catastrophe. We were hurricane, a tornado and a tsunami thrown all together. Scorching bronze skin blazing in the night, too hot to look at. She was the center of my universe, constantly wracked by earthquakes.

He was.
I ruined him and his porcelain perfection. He came looking for love, solid and honest. Beautiful and true, he was, with a promising future. Sometimes he glowed so brightly I couldn’t look. Our love walked a fine line, the thread slicing into the balls of our feet. It hurt to walk forward; it hurt move backward; we were too scared to look down.
He was so naive, and all I wanted was to show him my world. My broken world of closing doors and ticking clocks. I never meant to break him, to change him, to love him. There was something behind those eyes that longed to live, to believe. I tried so hard to convince myself he wasn’t as put-together as he seemed. He was a shattered mess like me. We were one, or so I told myself we were.
I gave him everything, far more than I intended. I let him kiss me tenderly, run his hands through my hair, adore my secrets until I forgot they were there. I took advantage of him. Letting his confident, stable love temporarily fix me--like placing a band-aid on sliced skin. What did I know of his world? I tore down his walls and left him vulnerable. He was always there when I fell apart, but the one time he couldn’t stand on his own, I let him fall.