The eye of the storm is the stillest part. There is calm at the centre of a cyclone. There is hush in the middle of a hurricane. The window of joy we shared was the eye of our storm.
I met you the way a fast car meets a tree. The slightest slip sent me careening into you. Half-conscious I remained at the scene, bones broken, blood spilled, fire burning.
You ask me what is love and I’ll tell you I know not. You ask me if I’ve loved and I’ll tell you I once did. You ask me how I know I’ve loved and I’ll tell you I just know.
