The Wind and The Air

We sit on the terrace of grandma's old house, amongst the fields, looking at the stars. He tells me about the girl he loved. He tells me how they went on long drives and how she sang for him and how her laugh was his favorite song. I wonder if she looks like me. I wonder if she was prettier. He tells me how her brown eyes shined in the sunlight and how they watched so many sunsets together at the beach. Blue waters, soft and happy kissing their feet. Happy times, he says. She had dimples, he says. Definitely prettier, I think. He looks at me and smiles. I gulp at what his gaze does to me. His eyes look sad. But I'm glad she left, he says. I look at him in confusion. He touches his index finger on the space between my creased brows. I try to relax, realising my expression gives away too much. He chuckles. "She was the wind, just meant to touch me and leave, you are the air I need to survive." he says, his eyes burning into mine. "She showed me what I thought love was. You proved both of us wrong. Love isn't just long drives and thoughtless promises and laughs. Love is tears. Love is pain. Love is sacrifice. Love isn't just sharing all the happy moments. Love is living the sad moments together, giving hope. Staying. Just staying."