A girl once said.

A girl once said:

Standing there in the afternoon sun, uncomfortable and harsh on our faces. On the hill we looked down on the city, him taking my hand and turning me to face him. Bringing both hands up against my face. Telling me, telling me that it had to be this way, that the only way you could be sure was to know, not just feel, but know, that in the pit of your stomach, in the hollow of your pitted, gnawing, wounded soul, that every action the other took was capable of tearing your heart or filling it completely. The complete range. It had to be there, and sometimes, sometimes, often, that made it so much harder, because you've chosen not to accept the mediocrity around you. That sometimes, that one will destroy you and lift you up in the same breath, absolutely poised on the fulcrum between the worlds, and just needing a push, a tilt, a lever to send you tumbling into the abyss or soaring into the troposphere.

The heat on my face dried the tears as quickly as they came, face tightening where they had been wet. Because I understood.