Diamond
She never understood why she was so attracted to him. Maybe it was because he was so much like her.
"He gets me," she says to no one in particular one sunny afternoon.
"Who gets you?" a liquid cool voice spills from the shadows. Her eyes narrow.
"Please, you know who I'm talking about," her words are kissed with attitude.
"You sure on that?" His wings shuffle behind him as he emerges from the dark. They dance to the pattern of a rhombus: always sidestepping, never pushing forward.
Maybe it wasn't he who understood her, but she who understood him.