One of both happy and sad.

The words, how overused.

But happy, at times, were they.

They would stare into each others eyes and recoil.

And continued this process.

Stare, recoil, stare, recoil.

As if scared of one another.

Yet they both knew they were not.

But sad, at times, were they also.

They would break each other,

and hurt one another.

But in the end, it seemed to work itself out.

The pain would disappear and not be accounted for.

But the scars, they remained.

How they influenced one another's lives.

How deeply they immersed each other into each others lives.

But what was wrong?

It seems it was all that was right, in their little worlds.

Worlds of fear, they were. Worlds of pain. But what world has not what these do contain?

It was good, when they were together. It was good. It may have been great, I care not to say.

In worlds, words are left unsaid. Things cannot be said sometimes, even to the closest of close. And when words become unsaid, they begin to infect.

The words. The infection. The worlds, tainting each other. It seems as if the bond, as matrimonious as it was, began to bleed into the worlds of more.

It was left unsaid.

It was left, to bled.

All that was is dead.

In this pretty little pair, with their pretty little glows.

It was left unsaid.

And bleed it did.

They say when a bond is broken, remnants always remain. Therefore they are remnants, are they not? Remnants.

Remnants of a pair. A pair too happy, they were sad.