He came into my life like storm clouds rolling down a mountain. A quiet afternoon at a café window, distant rumble, occasional flashes and then he was upon me. He dazzled me with his windswept hair and sunbathed skin as he stood over me, smiling, asking if I was using the empty chair across from me. No, I said and smiled. He cocked his head and with a devilish grin he lifted the chair and placed it before the adjacent table, facing me.
Soon after, I floated on the silver clouds of love and infatuation. Summer days, sultry nights, and always that distant thunder. I let the balmy passion which fogs the brain and blinds the eye wash over me, envelop me and pull me into the eerie calmness at the center. Joyful times in the eye of the storm.
Joyful times gone too soon.
First, he sprinkled questions here and there. Though I knew I owed him no answers, I still explained. He required explanations.
Then, the torrent of accusations dense with jealousy engulfed me and I swirled in the gale of his obsession. I flailed and grasped at the gusting wreckage of my life. I tried to clasp onto friends and family whirling around me, but he held on strong and my grip slipped.
I’d love to say I made it through the tempest, kept my head down and turned my collar up against the wind. I want to say I laughed at the lightning and roared louder than the thunder; but no, he vanished as he’d come: in a blinding flash.
Now, all I have left is my name on a gravestone.