She was ink; he was a blotting paper.
She was still stuck on words yet to dry; he absorbed her words both said and unsaid.
To her, she was a unicorn stitched together with a mermaid in the fertile imagination of the gods somewhere; to him, she was just the final one.
She wrote: Fear. Betrayal. Longing.
He absorbed: Heart. Love. You.
And with his final breath on her words, he died.
But, at last, her ink dried.
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