(No particular meaning in this, words just popped up in my head and needed a home)
She was the dark and he was the light.
Or maybe he was the dark and she was the light.
They were the same story, in the same book. On the same page, line after line.
He asked her to make things real.
Or maybe she did.
When things went real, she asked him to make things eternal.
Or maybe he did.
When eternity wrapped them tight, he asked her to dream.
When she woke up from the dream, she asked him to write.
She asked him to stumble across words, to feel them, to dance around them.
He asked her why.
She said it was something about eternity.