Unlikely

Your family swears it’s not like you. They’ll make thousands of stories that put you in thousands of different positions, none of them true. They’re the directors of your life, trying to edit and snip away anything that might disturb the final picture.

You’re a lily. You’re sweetness, spring, and vibrant. You bring life to others. All he brings is death. It’s not like you. Opposites are supposed to fight, struggling to subdue the other. There’s no battle here.

They still insist you’ve been stolen, brainwashed, programmed to say these things. If you place a flower in his hand, it rots. His realm is dark, full of tortured or freed spirits. You shouldn’t exist here, but you do. You shouldn’t love it, but against all odds, you do.

You come to understand death and suffering. He comes to understand laughter and warmth. Maybe you’re not opposites at all, but two sides of the same coin. Always in tandem, always inexplicably interlinked.

It’s not like you. Except, it really, really is.