He was a saguaro, striking straight into the sky. He was intimidating but also intriguing; magnetic to a fault, for fear of getting pricked. He was aloof - the thorns kept any semblance of proximity or intimacy at bay. Yet inside, there was a well of life, an entirely opposite existence.
She was a deep lake in a high mountain crevice, too cold to swim in but so colorful and clear. Still some came to standby her; to get as close as possible, without drowning in cold waters. She ached to be able to be with another, somehow believing she wasn’t fully complete on her own. It took years to see she was.
Neither had the intimacy of others, only the occasional bird willing to explore.