In and out. Up and down. The restaurants, the bars, the sun, and the moon. They were cycles, and I became punch drunk off the spin. Beauty came along as the 6 to my 12, and while the colors bled, she remained the clearest image opposite of me. After a while, I could no longer tell if she was along for the ride or if she was the storm herself. I wasn’t quite sure I cared.
The cycle continued.
Weeks or months passed. Before I knew it, I had gotten adjusted to the chaos. When my head settled and my feet gained hold of the ground below. The colors, once bright in their blur, dulled upon setting, and every photograph we had taken appeared muted. Nothing with Beauty ends with a bang, and so when I slowly spun out of the cyclone, I wasn’t surprised. I’ll never know if she was.
© 2010