I used to find you in the dictionary under the word rowdy. You were all scraped knees and chapped lips. You were ever-evolving; a complete whirlwind. Your middle name was Chaos.
I miss your giddy screeches of delight and the way the breeze flirted with your hair those smoke stained evenings. Can you remember the dusks once full of too loud music and barely audible whispers? The air tasted of you and falling leaves and I could swear even the crickets stopped to listen to your humming.
Which is why I can’t wrap my head around why- or how, you let her tame you. It’s almost as if you willingly went into the cage she led you to. Now you don’t even care to break free and you no longer hum melodies and I avoid going out at night now because I’m afraid of the quiet. I ache for the peace your violence once brought me. Everything is too still.
I still have the dictionary, except now I rifle through the pages wondering where you take homage. I hope we find each other again.