The Air He Breathes | Brittainy Cherry
I was warned about Tristan Cole.
“Stay away from him,” people said.
“He’s cruel.”
“He’s cold.”
“He’s damaged.”
It’s easy to judge a man because of his past. To look at Tristan and see a monster.
But I couldn’t do that. I had to accept the wreckage that lived inside of him because it also lived inside of me.
We were both empty.
We were both looking for something else. Something more.
We both wanted to put together the shattered pieces of our yesterdays.
Then perhaps we could finally remember how to breathe.
I was warned about Tristan Cole.
“Stay away from him,” people said.
“He’s cruel.”
“He’s cold.”
“He’s damaged.”
It’s easy to judge a man because of his past. To look at Tristan and see a monster.
But I couldn’t do that. I had to accept the wreckage that lived inside of him because it also lived inside of me.
We were both empty.
We were both looking for something else. Something more.
We both wanted to put together the shattered pieces of our yesterdays.
Then perhaps we could finally remember how to breathe.
I was warned about Tristan Cole.
“Stay away from him,” people said.
“He’s cruel.”
“He’s cold.”
“He’s damaged.”
It’s easy to judge a man because of his past. To look at Tristan and see a monster.
But I couldn’t do that. I had to accept the wreckage that lived inside of him because it also lived inside of me.
We were both empty.
We were both looking for something else. Something more.
We both wanted to put together the shattered pieces of our yesterdays.
Then perhaps we could finally remember how to breathe.