I hold on to pieces of her. Segments of the life she lived, fragments of a girl I’d fallen in love with. She flew in like a hurricane, forcing me to drown in her depths while shaking my foundation and tearing down my walls. And then came the aftermath: the never-ending storm—like constant cracks of thunder and blasts of lightning that paved a path toward our destruction. She was frustratingly defeating, and devastatingly desolate. Completely unforgiving. And beautiful. God, was she beautiful.
