Our love survived love.
But our eyes know to find each other and they do. And it reminds me of the way the ocean breaks: Blue turning blue again. Blue meeting land. Collapsing there, deeply. It reminds me of nothing else. And that means we are safe.
Maybe some people are only ever meant to be missed.
Even now, I see his damp hair crowding at his forehead. His eyes, cerulean, the same as my mother's. Him, favoring the skin of any water to me. I remember him moving with it, and staying. That ripe light and intermittence. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever stop looking for him there.
We're all the same whoever loves.