He was made of chai lattes. Chai lattes and ridiculous scarves, held together by expensive gold rings and copious amounts of hair product. His essence was a soft speech impediment, a fondness for sushi, and long-winded arguments over trivial matters.
He was beautiful, perfect, broken, wonderful, and horrifying wrapped all into one.
Beauty in the way he moved, perfect in his self assurance, broken in his self worth, wonderful in his actions, horrifying in what he did to you.
You were made up of hardness. Sharp angles, sharp words, sharp sarcasm. Computers and takeout composed you, snark made up your breath and your lisp. You were created from everything rough, and you were devoid of anything resembling softness.
You were lost, sad, broken, great, and terrifying.
Lost in the world, sad from what you lacked, broken since you were small, great in your knowledge, and terrifying in your worry of being so alone.
He fixed you, mended you as best as he could. Blustered through everything you held important, then went back when you weren't around to study and turn everything over. He never wanted you to know, but he cared, and that was all that you had ever wanted.
Needed.
Hoped for.
Chai lattes made you both up, a shared scarf brought you together while matching rings kept you near. Sarcasm kept you both alert, and takeout was reserved for nights when everything was just so right. Nothing should have worked, but everything did anyway.
It worked when you came home late, and he was there, standing at the stove and making pancakes drizzled with powdered sugar and honey, because that's the only way you would eat them. It worked when he woke up early and you woke up right with him, kissing him gently as he walked out the door. It worked when everything came crashing down in a wave of unspeakable sadness in the form of a girl taken too soon, when you held each other and cried through the night, before taking comfort in the fact the other was there.
Everything was right.
Even when it wasn't, when you started to grow old and both of your menial jobs started to take their toll. It was right when you could no longer could see anything clearly, even with the aid of glasses. It was right when he could no longer get out of bed anymore, and you were left to take care of him.
It was right up until the day he left, when he went somewhere that you couldn't follow, not just yet. It was right up until you woke up, and he never did.
It was wrong then, each day without him. No more banter, no more pancakes, no more soft kisses when you needed them.
It was wrong for five more years, each year harder on you than the last. It was wrong when you cried yourself to sleep at night because he was gone, and you were still here. It was wrong when your other friends started to leave you too, until at last you were the only one.
It was perfect when you saw him again, when he held out his arms and you saw everyone behind him. It was perfect when you couldn't breathe from being crushed against a warm chest. It was perfect when you realized that now you'd be together forever, for so much longer, and you had all the time in the universe for chai lattes and silk scarves and matching rings. All the time in the world for computer codes written to declare love, for sarcasm that hid thinly veiled amusement, for being together.
You were happy.
You are happy.
