I know you think about me, more than you probably should, perhaps in more ways than one. The crumpled paper with struck through lines possibly has my name written all over it. It's hard not to look at you and think of what we could have become. Your brevity, my oddity, we could have been them, hopelessly and carelessly in love, throwing caution to the wind, building castles on the sand, crashing against the rocks like waves, rising and falling with the tide, sweeping away everything like a hurricane with nothing left but our bare, naked selves to begin a new evolution with.