He helped her pull the bobby pins out of her hair, 18 little pieces of dark gray metal lined up like a firing squad against the cheap white sink. They reflected off the soap stained faucet and represented every month since they first met. Everything was deliberate, a map unfolded as her curls rained down. Red and fiery, he inhaled the smell of hairspray and a love ablaze.
Honey sun,
Bitter moon.