She was a nightmare dressed in dark blue;
he was as calm as an ocean tide on Sunday morning.
She had no way of controlling an outrageous temper;
he went with the flow more than the current.
She had all the reason to look passed him, to look into the sea for another fish, but she didn’t.
He had all the reasons to go on, to fend for himself, but he didn’t.
They were like the sun and the moon;
always apart but somehow together
in perfect sync.
She was the sunshine on his cloudy days.
He was the moonlight on her darkest nights.
They were the perfect storm.