He loved me. He took me to parks and monuments and fancy restaurants and fields in the middle of nowhere to stargaze for hours. We sang together and laughed and loved more than anyone else on the  planet, or so it seemed. We were the only two people in the world. The only two that mattered. Infinite. We were intertwined so deeply that we could never be untangled, and it didn't bother either of us one bit. And then he left. He abandoned me with a only bad taste in my mouth. The memory of his kiss was sour upon my lips. He took me to every beautiful place, and made them all crushingly bitter. All of them. He destroyed me in the most resplendent way possible, and now I understand. I understand why storms are named after people.