She smells like the secrets she keeps, with a hint of vanilla. He only pays attention to the vanilla. Her hugs taste like scarlet pomegranate seeds, and he has to fight himself to pull away. Her words smell bitter, her hugs so sweet.

His movements are melted chocolate; every step he takes is gold. She falls into his musical arms fights to pull away. His breath is poetry, his eyes a breeze. She won’t let him go, she won’t dare. They just can’t pull away.

Over time, they spoil the connection, though their appetites don’t yield immediately. The shouting between them tastes spicier than it did before. He starts to smell the secrets. She notices, and douses herself in more vanilla.

Soon, they fight to airbrush the relationship. Sometimes they fight just to break the tension. Her smiles are canned laughter; his hugs, paper-thin. Their conversations start to sound plastic. Neither wants to fight. It’s not worth it.

Their last kiss tastes crestfallen. She moves out. He misses her vanilla; little does he know her mysteries overpower her now. She gives in to the taste of mischief, nothing holding her. He stares at his reflection and vows never to get her back. Both he and she continue on with their lives.

Sometimes, they try to make sense of it.

Neither has a clue.