Meeting you was like opening my eyes after having fallen half-asleep on a long car ride, and seeing the world as if it was an over-exposed photograph, everything too bright, the color washed out of it by the brutal sun. It was too brilliant, and seemed unnatural at first until I adjusted; this is just how things are.
Our conversations are like trying to slow dance in the middle of the day to the music on the radio. The feeling is there and we know what we’re doing, but the beat is inconsistent and misleading and often we stumble over each other’s feet, and fragments. We step on each other’s toes and muddy our sentences but we laugh.
To know you is to enjoy spring in a fickle climate, where days may stretch warm and inviting and pleasant only to be disrupted by a cold, wet morning. But I have found beauty, too, in slogging through the mud and wind, and an appreciation of the fact that flowers cannot grow where there is no rain.