He was a good guy, and I loved him the way you love someone when you're broken. I loved him into pieces.
We didn't have any money, so we went to the Art Galleries and made out in the elevators. I remember I could feel his hands all over me even when they weren't.
His apartment was far away and dingy. One night there was a storm, and I was always so afraid of storms. I wanted to go home, only I didn't have one. I cried into him about how lost I felt.
There was a little porch off the second floor and he wrapped a blanket around me and took me there to watch the storm. To listen to the lightning and count how many miles away it was by timing out the thunder.
"See, you're fine!" he announced when it was over. Only I wasn't fine for a long time.
We broke up because that's what scared people do when they get too close to happy. He moved away, but came back when a mutual friend told him I was knocked up and unmarried.
He came and asked me to marry him, to come away with him to Indiana. He said "You'll be fine!"
I turned down his proposal, because terrified people don't know how to speak properly.
But late at night, from then all the way to now, and especially when it thunders, I think of him and thank him for the quiet haven he gave me. Because I wasn't fine then, but I sure am now.