I knew this girl, beautiful as heroin.
I loved her like gravity. I feared her like cruelty. I desired her like Aztec gold. I miss her like oxygen, and she is gone, gone, gone. And I feel like I am more for having known her, and hollow for her absence. I left her dead on the battlefield last week: the idealised childhood notion of my perfect mate. And now I see unfiltered the entropic chaos of biology and energy, and wonder at the alien splendour of God’s true perfection everywhere I rest my gaze. Foreign like a sheep farmer lost in Tokyo, but also richer and more grotesquely beautiful than my tiny, fevered mind could ever have imagined.