You who told me you loved me.
You who had nothing but unwanted critique in your arsenal.
You who had winds, not so strong, but persistent enough to pick me apart.
You who made me cry and shake at night as I searched the internet at night for “Warning signs of mental abuse.” Because I was stubborn enough to realize that the pressure in the air had changed.
You, who finally moved before you fit even more into the mold of who the screen said you could be.
You, who always put me on the defensive. I was in a tiny little twister, and I look around now and see storms everywhere.
You, have you ever seen a missing poster? When someone is gone and everyone who really loved them plasters their photo up to get them back? Well I scroll through endless online feeds and when I come across the girls I knew, they fit the bill. Girls I knew as they were before they fell in love. Girls who are wrapped up in a raging, stampeding EF5, mile wide tornado. They don’t even know it.
You. You’ll fall in love again. Sooner than I, seeing as my storm is still trying to rope out. I want to hold a metaphor of a mirror up to you so you can see your rotation.
You, you’re going to save the next girl. The succeeding girl who falls in love with you. I’ll show you the buildings you’ve toppled. So one less girl won’t be lost in a storm so powerful that those who love her will never have to look at her, and see a missing poster.