She’s warm, and I’m ice-cold. She hates pickles, so I eat them for her. She’s day, and I’m night. Sun, moon. Phi is everything I’m not, but in all the ways that count, she feels familiar, like I’ve known her all my life. A constant beat in a song that never changes, even when the rest of the world goes off-key. There’s a rhythm to our chaos, a twisted comfort in knowing that, beneath the pain, we understand each other in ways no one else could.
I love them so much it hurts
