Wonder struck.

He was the intellectual dreamer,
he always told her he'd see the world someday.
She was the blue-eyed girl with a big heart,
she always lied to him.
Their lips met;
sparks flew;
the fire was ablaze.
He left.
Her arms were scarlet.
"I slipped on the ice. I was at the edge and returned from hell."
He hated it, the way she was in pain.
"I care for you."
The pale white flesh became riddled with battle wounds.
Lies, filthy lies;
and so she ran without looking back.
Love does funny things to her, this slip of a girl,
and she mistrusted it.
He followed her into the dark,
unable to coax her out.
No one could, and so eventually,
they all abandoned her.
But he stuck around.
His eyes were dark, hers bright,
and they came to a mutual understanding.
Slowly he bared his chest,
his heart, to her,
and the girl stared reverently.
"You and I are the same," she murmured,
tracing his scars and veins with the tip of her index finger.
"Yes," he said simply,
and they were one.