Like fireworks that lit the sky one December night,they were two people that touched for only a brief moment and they burned and burned until there was nothing but cinders in their eyes.
Both were fires that burned to light the way for one another.
Maybe they just burned too bright and time  moved too fast,
Maybe she was his anchor, she kept him tethered, kept him there,steady and unable to move forward.
The world may never know, except for this:
"They" were as fleeting as time and their ephemeral words made it evident that both of them couldn't stay forever because even the brightest of lights die out—sometimes,far more early than others.
They weren't just fireworks—I know that now— each of them were forest fires and they burn for the other to provide warmth and light,oblivious to the destruction that they make.
They were forest fires.
And now all they are is rain and tears, drowning in an ocean of memories.
And as I write this,I can't help but think that in some ways this wasn't just the story of them,it was our story too: the story of us that never was and never will be.
-W.L.A.C