She lost her innocence the moment she realized that nothing could ever be perfect.  Hiding behind herself was nothing intentional.  She loved who she was; everybody did.  Because of it, she thought, she lost everyone.  She doesn’t want to lose him.
She’s in a dream.  Like poetry she sighs.  Typically sad and forlorn, loving he.  He was the paragon of her ideals and beliefs set into person; into music.  Her abstract notes had sufficed for his studying.  Only now, only now could she belong to someone.  No longer content was she to say romantic things the way her favorite characters from books would have said them; the way she had imagined them for years.  He wanted her and didn’t insist upon putting a crack in her glass figurine illusions.

She: I already know who I am.
He: That is why I want you.
She: You want me?
He: I want you.
She: This should be a permanent arrangement.

 They moved in together.  She had loved him so long she had forgotten his name on one occasion.  Hey, you.  An affectionate ‘hey, you’ was what she called him and it was always different, with her accent.  He always heard it differently.  And when she sang, he listened.  She had always loved good listeners and he was an incredible listener.
 It worked and they thought about moving from Philadelphia to San Francisco.  He would be good at fighting, but he didn’t go to war.  If he killed someone, he knew he’d lose her, and he’d lose himself and where he’d been.  America wasn’t really worth saving, but she would be his bride one day, and she was worth saving.
 Incense was very big and they smoked pot each evening after tea.  She liked tea because she was English and tea was his way of promising he’d take her home one day and have tea in Harrod’s in London.  The world may be in turmoil, but if London ever got bombed again, she said, Harrod’s might fall or be rebuilt, but it would always be Harrod’s.
 They had other habits.  Candles and flowers.  There were lots of flowers because who would harm flowers in nineteen sixty-seven?  Only people that were overseas or that never let flowers grow to begin with.  They kept up with the books of the times and amassed their own collection.  Soon, she said, they would write so much poetry that it would equal the amount of books on the shelves.  The books surrounded their bedroom, all upon crude shelves that he’d built with his own hands.  He cut the tree himself and planted another in its place.
 One day he came home rather late.  She had already partaken in her evening tea and pot, in the wrong order, she said.  He grinned at her as she sat there on the bed in the beautiful fabrics she had purchased.  They came from India.  She never sewed them into anything, and here she sat usefully in them.

 “My princess, my number was called today,” confessed the prince, “So we must move within the week.

 They decided that San Francisco was too far and expensive to travel to on so short a notice, so they packed the Volkswagen bug and drove the five hours to D.C.  They never brushed shoulders with anyone famous.  She confessed to being aroused by the Washington Monument and they debated over the phallus, concluding that power corrupts but sex is still sex.
 They got a dog called L.B.J.  The name was too cruel to the dog, she said, and began fixing vegetarian meals on a regular basis.

 “Marriage is just a piece of paper, and I am a liberated woman.  But I love you still, and you won’t mistreat me, and my wish is to marry you.”

She proposed the idea in this way, and he then proposed formally after retrieving daises from the garden.  He carved a wooden ring for her and like everything carved, it never splintered.

 He never stopped holding doors or walking the dog or taking out the trash and she never stopped cooking.  He got into a car accident in the bug.  The car was destroyed and all of the time he had spent painting it was in vain.  It wasn’t like the other painted ones because he was talented and he wasn’t afraid to paint LOVE on the front.
 He was an orphan.  She had an extensive family, so the wedding was to be in London.  The dress could have floated out of the renaissance, and being inspired by it, she composed four part voice writing.  The accidentals gave her thrills.
 The plane ride was safe.  She was afraid of planes and he held her and kissed her hair when she slept.  He didn’t sleep lest she awaken and find him so.
 There was one disagreement about the wedding.  Mrs. Sailwater, the bride’s mother, desired her to be married by her birth name which was Mary Ann Sailwater.  She had legally changed her name to Sunshine Kerrine Paris Sailwater so after consulting the priest, they agreed with her newer, legal name.  He had also legally changed his name from John Paul Elwood to Paris Paul Sunshine Elwood.

He: I do.
She: I do.

He had kept the Paul because she had loved Paul McCartney and on occasion had called him Paul.  Her parents were happy and wished them well.  They wanted children and she had in fact become pregnant one week before their wedding date.

 In all its innocence the child died along with Paris and Sunshine.

As the plane fell to the sea, Paris asked Sunshine who would feed L.B.J.

She kissed him.

He: I love you.
She: I love you.
He: I love you.
She: I love you.
They: I love.

Four out of four people die.
How few die in love?