I loved a man who moved like a tornado and lived like a god.

I woke up next to a wild, rodeo, tornado man who smelled like methane and toxic waste after schedule 1 all night. His room was an explosion of Hunter S. Thompson chaos. He slept harder than the end of the world and made friends with hammers with eyes.

He worked like a dog. He worked like a hero. He worked like a god.

He drank 20 beers a day. He drove drunk. He laughed with the sun as music reset his heart.

On our first date he gave me my first magic mushroom. On our second we fought over a sentient fire. On our third the earth played with us.

Sometimes his eyes were black. Sometimes his eyes were blue.