Sandpaper

When he first saw her it wasn't like what happens in the movies. There were no sparks, no interest, no love, only disgust. She was ratted hair, messy clothes, and a puddle of tears. In his eyes, she was weak.
When she first saw him it wasn't what she was expecting. His voice felt like comfort, yet his words stung like ice. He was dull colors, close cropped hair, and a clenched jaw. And she knew he was broken.

When they saw each other three months later he didn't recognize her. She had morphed into arms folded firmly across chests, eyebrows sloped into a natural scowl, and fingernails dug into forearms. The world around her was confined to shades of red, yet his name remained blue, and his voice still felt like comfort.

She was a challenge. He was consistent. And life was Hell.