You were nothing like the girl I thought I would fall in love with. In fact, you were completely contrasting – you liked rain more than you liked sunshine. You reminded me of how desolation could be beautiful. You reminded me that gray wasn’t a melancholic color. But most of all, you reminded me that it wasn’t happiness that I was yearning; it was contentment.
I have loved you. I have loved you completely and entirely, and with my whole heart. I have loved your little nuances, like the silent sigh of disappointment before you hung up the phone, and the grip of your hand become firmer while we crossed the roads. I still miss those scarlet etches your fingers left on my hand, and how you stared at the tea, and the crimson color reflected your eyes. I have watched you, watching me, watching you.
You were to me what the giant ocean is to a small coastal town. My life depended around you. In you, I searched for happiness. In you, I hid my sorrows. So, when you finally left, it destroyed me. It destroyed me like an enormous tsunami destroys a trifling coastal town. It rendered me catatonic and it left me helpless.
You were like collateral damage. Perhaps, I was right in assuming that when you’d be done with me, I would finally know why hurricanes were named after people.