It was anarchy, the way you looked at me. The twinkle behind your eyes broke all the rules, and in a heartbeat, society crumbled. We weren’t star-crossed lovers, we were aggressive defiants of the social order. And when our eyes met, cities burned. The ignition? The simple idea that what was, was not what had to be.

It was chaos, the way you ran to me. The fire behind your eyes shook the earthly foundations, and with it, structures fell. We weren’t desperate romantics, we were dedicated destroyers of the status quo. And when our minds met, truths brightened. The light? The simple idea that what was, was not what should be.

I’m writing this to let you know I’m glad we did what we did. You see, this is not a confession of love, nor of guilt; but a statement of sanity – questioned as it may be. With it, I reclaim my body; my mind; and my name.

I need you to know, I’m not sorry.

© Shyla Fairfax-Owen