Their pieces are of the same puzzle but the pieces are too many and doused with lighter fluid. Their arms intertwine in crooked serious paralysis as a match is held between his thumb and her forefinger. Just as when they first looked into each others eyes; that drop of a feeling like the piano falling thirteen stories with a cerulean backdrop of pulsing strobe skies fast forward. In love for the first time and the last, just so quick that it couldn't be taken for anything but an offensive measure. Strike anywhere and yes, that is how it was. Everywhere they went their love was aflame engulfing the maps of their cities and homes until every urban silhouette was on fire. There was no escape because they had it all and nothing would suffice for they would tear it all down. And their map became ashes. And their story became legend. And their loneliness became the past. The search party looking for completion found the orphan there in the woods and we're holding each other close and it's not all in vain. Years dispersed the histories over decades and there they had a life and a marriage and a black mirror omnipotent told them their lives were predictable. And like a trumpet falling on a flat note after the solo where the musician just stopped having that blue glow after quitting the heroin, the heart steadied then hiccuped and it didn't have it anymore. Something unnameable was gone and it was irretrievable. Their love is the lighter fluid and their fingers work together to flick the match. With the flame dropping down upon the pieces their lives flash before their eyes and they are there in there forever. Their romance was a run-on sentence and they will be edited down because the lives of the irrational will be documented in a logical fashion and the smoldering remains of this thing that was a puzzle completed and taken down will go down in history as something digestible and succinct.
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