────։ ✦

They would always eventually get over a bad day. Coldness takes effort; warmth does not. The knew this, but warmth often became an uncomfortable singeing of their safety. They ran at the thought of such possibilities like tiny girls from tiny spiders. Neither wanted to put that eight-legged flame into a jar, but somehow they both expected butterflies. The ecosystem is such for good reason, and that reason is balance. Spiders and butterflies both constitute that effortless, life-affirming warmth.

They dance around that truth as it is bonfire. Sometimes they even look bright at it. But never, never do they touch that little Paris, that little flame; their little flame, their little Paris. Because that love is meaningless meaning, and neither of them wants to be, or feel, wrong. Even if they'd be wrong together. Their hands never meet in that fire. Their souls never burn in night's ecstasy. And they are almost never born, until tomorrow, when they smile once again, and dance.