They were a walking yin-yang. Sunlight filled the chasm where hands met and shoulders swung free down the walk. Everything about him demanded Viking raids and wild seas. She was the sultry wind blowing dark and lithe around his hips. Eyes roamed their contours and a voice shouted inside, "That will never work."

But they were electric, the blues and whites, wrapping over toasted brown until light drooped and bowed before them. I loved them.

I wanted to hurt the voice foretelling their dissolution.