so, she had always been thunder and the feelings after rain; that sticky sweet candy that hurt your stomach and yet satisfied the back of your mind like a well written poem, or even a naughty photo that wasn’t meant for you – wheein had always been ‘we in this’ and with sam by her side, they personifed petrichor and druxy and everything around them, was called beautiful. somehow, he loved her; and she too, in her way, had loved him, though on levels that she kept to herself and that was okay with sam, to an extent. they never fought – they hadn’t much need to – and if a disagreement arose, it was quickly squashed with good intentions and paved with seeds of contentment, ones that he planted between her breasts as he listened to her heart, and she, his mind. they spoke on marx, the pair of them, though he was sam’s least favourite and wheein’s most adored, so they settled somewhere between plato and aristotle, and seemingly came up with socrates as their middle ground. perfection, they were not, but they needed neither planes nor any means of transportation to get away, for they had one another as just that, islands all of their own. their friends called their romance ‘fantasy’ because of the unreal quality their own reality took on; but their reality was one that involved the very world around them, so for sam and wheein, it was impossible to imagine what was happening as fake, as counterfeit, as an imitation. still, they both could feel; and within the confines of each other, they did just that – and just like those lingering feelings after rain, they saw each other’s sadness and kept it inward… for the formula of happiness, was seen in their eyes, and their eyes, saw only the world.
