Being with you was like walking through a desert; arid and flat, with craggy highs and lows. Your love was like a desert too. Nothing could flourish there beneath the brassy, impeccable beating of the sun and the heavy winds blowing like sin over a dust bowl.
Only the plants adaptable enough to mutate into sturdy, deformed survivalists catching in crooked grooves and holds; defense mechanisms like so many jagged teeth trying to bite the world into swallowable chunks. And the problem with walking in the desert is you don’t stroll, you don’t stride Herculean; you wander. You wander and the wind blows.