He was young, exuberant. And he fell in love so fast and so hard that every step he took he left a crater in his wake and every heart he broke was burned beyond recognition.
She was young, guarded. And she made a point not to show it, but the cracks in her face told a different story. As if she'd had her heart stabbed the day she was born and left the wound to heal on its own for twenty years. Forgetting it was there at times, but if you looked close enough, there it was. The paper- thin, razor edged gash, on the dark side of her heart.
He came and danced around her with his fireworks and his fast cars, with his danger and his exhilaration, with his adrenaline and his slow annihilation.
She remained calm, willfully oblivious. Vaguely seeing, through all the layers of smooth, meticulous ice, a distortion of his smiling face.
He despaired and raged at intervals, persisting in his heartless, relentless siege. Thawing apathy with raw emotion, feeling his soul explode.
Like an icicle caught in one fluid movement, she gazed passively towards the sky.
He took his anger and his passion and his impulse and his whims and he chipped at her center.
Nestled in her remote cocoon, she hardly felt his persistence,his longing. Until he reached in and ran a long finger down the edge of her heart, brushing, ever so slightly, the healing wound.
Then, the words bled. They bubbled and boiled her skin. They burst out in coughs and whimpers.
He looked on with sinking horror.
They turned on her and ate her alive, set her aflame, ripped her to shreds.Dripped one drop of water on her forehead,same place, same beat... until she went mad.
He turned away, picked up his adrenaline, danger and exhilaration. Put them deep in his pocket next to the words and secrets and lies. And walked on.