The fairy tale ended the night they sacrificed their last dollar to the jukebox in that Brooklyn bar. There they were, a boy and a girl at the end of the world, with a band echoing some enchanting love song all around them in three-quarter time. They held each other close, hoping everything might just fade away, terrified of the final breath slowly approaching.
He shuddered. “I’m scared.”
She nodded. “Me too.” Then she chuckled, clinging to a shred of hope. “Maybe there’s a way back…”
He managed to crack a smile but still shook his head. “No… We can’t…”
Their eyes locked. The blue pools leading into his soul were pierced by the emerald daggers she so effortlessly wielded. There came an understanding in that moment.
“Do you remember when we met?” she asked, her breath hitching in her throat.
“Of course,” he answered.
She clenched his hands, desperately fearful of letting go. “I was broken. So fucking broken. Maybe I still am. Guess it doesn’t matter now. But you loved me anyway, shattered image and all.”
“Eh, don’t sell yourself short,” he said, smirking. “I mean, look at me. I’m over here, still finding pieces of myself every day, some I didn’t even know were missing in the first place. You gave me that.”
“We gave it to each other,” she affirmed.
He grinned before bowing his head and letting himself cry. She embraced him, holding on so tight that if the world would allow them the time, she might never let him go. But time was no longer their ally. This was the end of the boy and the girl. All that remained was a spark—a spark that, no matter how much time passed, would never die.