An ice floe. On it, two stranded polar bears. Having grown up in poverty, they constructed their lives on the premise of disbelief. Knowing from the start that it wasn't theirs to begin with. It wouldn't last. Just something borrowed and definitely new. And yes, there was plenty of old and the only thing that was blue was the feeling left to their children. But that marriage lasted and lasted. Just the two of them, even with everyone and everything they amassed drifting in and out. Deaf to the anger they engendered. Outliving friends, relatives, not to mention their childrens' marriages.
One retreats, the other wavers. Together they wave goodbye. They drift. Two halves of an imperfection that endured wars, pestilence and the occasional indulgence. What will life be without them?
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