Aesthetics of Love

He was smoke rising from a blazing fire. He was the feeling you get when you narrowly avoid death. He was the adrenaline rush you get skydiving. Being with him was a constant adventure. He was the calm before the storm and the storm all in one. His anger was a nuclear warhead destroying everything in its path but his love was a soldier fighting for his country. He was the plot twist in her life. He was the fire that melted her and ultimately destroyed her.
She was ice, pure and cold. She walked by with a coldness in her soul no one could explain. She had been let down by the world so much that she accepted it. She saw black where she should have seen colour. She was a piece of pottery who has been broken and glued back together, not quite the same and polished as before. She had been destroyed so much that she had given up on putting herself back together.
Their love was explosive. A drug. She was hooked. Their fights were explosive and most times ended in war. Crying on a bathroom floor begging god for death was normal. Cigarette smoke and shaky breaths were her new safe place. Hearing things shatter around her made her feel at home for that was all she had ever known. Cowering on the floor while he wrapped her in arms that seconds ago had caused her pain was her new high.
She woke up one day to the aftermath of the night before. Bottles catching sunlight off their broken edges and reflecting it across the room. Smoke from the hours previous collecting in the room and in her lungs. She took a breath and looked in the looking glass. Everyone was right she was the devil.