Life and Death

"Life is naught but the delicate art of dying," he murmured, as if to unravel the fragile thread that held them bound.
---
"We cannot be together," she whispered, her voice trembling with sorrow. Her breath caught, and she struggled to restrain the tide of grief that surged within her, though a tear betrayed her and slipped down her cheek. "It cannot be. Such as we are, what hope have we of binding ourselves to a future that shall ever unravel?"

Yet he, steadfast as the morning sun, offered a soft and knowing smile, and his gaze held hers with a love so fierce it threatened to consume him. "Aye, but we shall find a way," he said, his voice laced with quiet defiance, "for in your eyes I have glimpsed the very heavens. Do not think, my love, that I shall be parted from thee by mere shadows or fate's cruel hand."

He reached for her then, and with fervor he declared, "We were forged for each other, as day for night, and sun for moon. No force in earth, nor even God Himself, can sever what our hearts have thus decreed."
---
Thus stood the angel of life and the angel of death, each bearing gifts both strange and rare: he with the breath that quickens all things, and she with the kiss that lays them low.

Though their souls beat in perfect harmony, an eternal riddle haunted them both. How, indeed, might they endure-these two beings, crafted as opposites, bound to realms ever at odds?