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Metaphors

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She was a thunderstorm. She rolled in without warning, and struck him in the middle of a lonely field; she rolled out without goodbye, yielding him defenceless.
She was the sea, infinite and unpredictable. Vast, and mysterious.
She was springtime, breathing new life into him, drawing him out from underneath winter’s cold blanket. She taught him how to live again, showed him that the frost had melted and it was time to bloom.
She was fire, she was destruction.
She was a beautiful day, and everything it entailed. She was sun, and heat.
She was a whirlpool, stealing everything from him, pulling him deeper, and deeper into her clutches, until there was no way out. He had no choice but to drown, to drown in her.
She was a bird, beautiful, unbound.
She was everything natural and free.
She was everything.
She was love.




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