When she was young, if you had told Angelina she would fall head over heels in an art gallery, she would've scoffed. But war changes people. War makes you realize how brave a lone dandelion seed is, brave enough to leave its home in one gust of the wind, brave enough to start something new without knowing the fates of its brothers and sisters. War made Angelina love art.

And it was art that brought her to Cho. Thinner and paler than she'd ever been before, Cho stood in front of a canvas, in front of a tortured version of herself, smaller and pettier and uglier and somehow less broken, and Angelina fell in love with the ugly truth on the canvas. She fell in love with raw honesty, with bravery.

They met afterwards in the bar next door, sipping firewhiskey and taking about the good old days, bathing in nostalgia until they dissolved into tears, taking solace in the arms of a near-stranger.

They kissed for the first time in Angelina's flat that night and they both tasted like tears and loss. Their kisses were fervent and sweet and raw, mixing hard and soft with ease.

It became routine quickly, fluttering fingertips and teasing tongues becoming as familiar as a favorite book- the kind you'll read over and over and get something new out of it each time. And every night Cho ended up in her bed, Angelina could've loved her but didn't say anything, scared she'd chase away a girl who only painted brokenness.

Angelina could've loved her, but Cho didn't want to be loved. There's something romantic about the artist whose soul is in little bitty pieces, something that inspires songs and paintings and literature, something Cho couldn't give up. People don't want to see love in art, they want to see heartbreak. Happy artists don't create masterpieces.

Its ending was as undefined as its beginning, intermittent meetings slowly becoming less and less frequent until Angelina's pillowcases no longer smelled vaguely of citrus perfume Cho was so fond of.

And Angelina was okay. There were some inescapable times when the dark ink of Cho's absence stained her life, but Angelina was okay. After all, she had fallen in love with bravery, with a girl so unafraid she could paint herself on a canvas without gilding it in gold. And bravery is about leaving home in a gust of wind, leaving everything with nothing more than a kiss goodbye.

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