He often thought their relationship grew like an organic, living thing, a conglomeration of cells, each part tiny, unrecognisable for its individual significance, but building together to make a complete, wondrous organism.
The first spark of life. In the bustling coffee shop, the warm fug of steam and discreet jazz playing through the speakers. A lone auburn ringlet escaping from her hair clip, falling over the blue shoulder of her jacket – a meteor shooting across a sapphire sky.
Cell division. First nervous words exchanged, her smiling as he offered to buy her coffee then struggled to find change enough to pay.
Organs develop. Lungs breathless when the phone rings, displays her number. Stomach flipping, flying, sinking at the thought of her touch, at the first brush of her lips on his cheek, when she cancels a date.
Looking back, it all seems so obvious.
So why is he now surprised that this entity they created together shared the fate of all living creatures?
The fall into entropy and decay.