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There’s a Storm in Her Eyes
The love of my life would be a hurricane.
Have you ever tried to love a tempest?
No, I daresay you haven’t. Girls aren’t supposed to be storms bundled up in skin. Men shouldn’t be either, now that I think of it — but here we are. We can’t always control what fate has in store for us.
Her gray eyes would be my downfall. Her maroon lips would be my poison. Her body would be the final arrow shot through to my chest.
All she said was hello, and I was lost in the tides.
“Are you okay?” she asked, blinking at me, as she stood behind the checkout counter. I shook my head free of the daze as if I were just waking up from a long dream.
She didn’t know what she was, but I did. I could sense her power as if it were a scent on the wind. Children of the gods always struck me senseless when I found them.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I managed to say. “Just a bit light-headed.”
She gave me a weird look as if she didn’t quite believe me. But she went on as if nothing had happened. She rang up the quart of milk, the loaf of bread, and the pack of condoms. I might have felt embarrassed about that any other time, but she was unfazed.
