It was his eyes that trapped me. It was his eyes that I saw first. They were a lighthouse, glowing, and I was a boat sailing too close to rocky shores. But instead of warning me away, they pulled me closer until darkness was no more. Those eyes guided me home, through tranquil waters, until home was wherever they lead me. And I knew that I would follow them anywhere, stormy seas and all.
Because Michael is made up of shadows, in the best kind of way. He is cast onto anything made of light, always there, experiencing the world and only ever disappearing when a blackness falls. He is the centre of our sun, the light from the stars, the presence of the moon during the day.
And I’m pretty sure his heart is made from pure gold.
When I first met Michael, I realised I didn’t know anything about love. Not like I thought I had. It was his impact on me that showed me the truth. Nothing I had ever experienced had even come close to that feeling of falling head first without fear. And I knew that the moment I looked into his eyes. I knew that I had never felt love, not even close. Because nothing had ever compared to what I was feeling for this boy, something so powerful I was sure I was about to collapse in on myself like a supernova.
“Don’t you get it?” Michael asked me one afternoon when I told him about the moment we first met, “that’s the point Lyra. Love isn’t meant to be butterflies and smiles, it isn’t meant to be a slight breeze and sunlight. It’s storms and hurricanes. It’s jungle cats and flying.” He kissed me then, soft and gently and everything I had ever wanted.
Then he continued, “love is exactly that, it’s a supernova.”