Let me tell you a tale--a tale about a boy and a girl so destined for perfection that you could taste life in the moonglow that shone down onto their bodies as they tangled into one. She was wild like a fire-red alley cat running rampant in the night. She could break hearts not only with the curiosity in her smile, but by the mere sashay of her walk. She was, in essence, the unattainable dream, the wild angel, but she was more dangerous than the dark purple clouds that spell doom above. She could steal your soul and disappear into the shadows before you even knew your life was missing. And she wouldn't think twice about doing it. She was largely nocturnal, but threatening nonetheless--much as one would think a thief to be. But as permanent as her crimes may be, her actions were strangely legal. She was a felon with no felony, a competitor with no competition, a friend with few friendships, and a leader whose followers could never seem to keep up. She never met a challenge she didn't have a taste for. She was strong like the wind, sudden like the thunder, and louder than the silence that screams obscenities from every narrow crack that curses the sidewalk. She wasn't apathetic by choice, however; the blows from her childhood scarred more than her happiness. They scarred her mere existence and will to live. Her father's anger and the excuses that always followed forced her to shy away from human protection. She held no signs of arrogance or egocentrism, contrary to popular belief. Her aggression was often read as powerful, but she's never stopped running from the past. There are some mountains so majestic even brave men dare not approach. And him--he had a heart of gold. His charm was excitingly obvious but, like her, he ran free and answered only to his conscience. He'd never been in love, but lust might as well have been his middle name. It was easy to see that he'd stomped on more hearts than Patrick Swayze and Robert Redford combined, though he was completely unaware of each instance. You could compare him to a random freckle: dark and mysterious, but pleasing still. His power was admittedly a series of raging rapids. The world would stop turning at the very snap of his fingers. Show him an opportunity and he'd release his relentless determination for success. If sex was fast food, there'd be a neon sign above his bed. His carelessness stemmed not from a lack of consideration for others, but rather from the ticking time bomb embedded in his heart. No boy could tame her, and no girl, him. They came together only to feed off the resistance that slowly seeped from their skin. When she waltzed into his office on that warm winter day, she had no intentions of staying, no intentions of falling in love. To her, love was nothing more than a clever crook of desire, endlessly altering the lives of naive pioneers on their journey to find open hearts. She'd never let anyone sweep her off her feet--instead, she was running before they knew she was gone. But it wasn't destiny who walked her into that parlor; instead, it was her looking after a young and naive friend making young and naive mistakes. It wasn't love at first sight or even one of those meant-to-be type of love stories. It was nothing more than a smile and a kind word; Cupid took it from there. And as the weeks went by, they placed themselves in each others' company more and more often. It was quite the opposite of everything they'd had before. He withdrew his defenses upon seeing the promising rays in her eyes. She rebuilt burnt bridges at the sound of his voice. She could feel him making love to her every time he let a laugh slip just a little too soon. He could read her like a book, but she struggled with his meaning like one might do with century-old poetry. When they finally fell in love, as though they'd never had before, the love they shared was made of gossamer trust and leopard speed. How often do we see something more beautiful than bright yellow tulips against a cloudless summer sky? Yet it was a love against all odds and it was, at the very least, destined for destruction. For two dreamers cannot forever find complete satisfaction without drifting. To dream is to drift. To commit is to throw away your dreams in exchange for the stability that comes with the kept promise of two souls merging into one. And death only comes when one soul backs out of the deal.