My favourite kind of chaos

A catastrophic fall held in its power.

Eyes of yours but a time machine.

Pools of melted bronze that take me back to those weary nights where we confided our darkest secrets and unburied the anxieties we hid from the world.

Alone, we pretended to be strong.

Together, we could be weak.

And weak people lean on each other.

We seemed comfort in each other's embrace and hell, do I miss that.

I miss the privacy.

I miss the intimacy.

I miss the trust.

Trust that soon grew rotten.

Trust that soon grew forgotten.

But it's okay.

I can still remember those nights bittersweet nights that warm me and warn me not to fall like that again.

Atavistically.

Foolishly.

Irrationally.

For those are the key ingredients for chaos.

My favourite kind of chaos.