She was ingenious. From the way she tilted her head to the subtle arch in her back. She would float right between your fingers if your hands didn't close in time, and that brief moment of uncertainty drove her wild.
She spoke a little too quickly; in such a hurry to break her ideas out that she didn't pause to let you catch up, let alone enunciate enough for you to understand, were you able to match her pace.
When she told you about life, she broke down her twenty-seven years into three categories:
Whenever she was to be questioned about how every thing could land into merely three groups, she would sigh and roll her eyes, a grin pulled tight across her lips.
"It's simple, really" she would say with irreverence, "without creation, life would be meaningless. Imagine a world without art or music. We would be at a loss, there would be no expression and no release."
Here she would pause to gauge your reaction. Were you too distracted, she would leave with no explanation of the other two: she would pick up her phone and wander from the room. Were you listening intently, maybe leaning in over your steaming cocoa, or eating your asparagus soup with captive eyes, she would continue.
"Destruction… I think that one is the easiest to understand. Every time something is created, I believe there is something that needs to be destroyed. Sometimes out of anger, or maybe as retribution. But either way, destruction brings about blood, hatred. And, sometimes, out of that comes an art of its own."
She would stare off into space now, or into her lap. And just as you'd be ready to ask her about love, her now bloodshot eyes would meet yours.
"And love? Well, love is what ties the two together."