She was a breath of fresh air
He grew up in the tenements
She was a mountain range
He was that sweet something
After too much saltiness
She grew up listening to country
He was her first taste of jazz

She was his first night under the stars. His first taste of the wild. She was the reprieve he needed from the concrete and smog. He brought her excitement and city lights, but still danced with her under the moonlight. He showed her that there was more to her world, just as she did for him. At last, they felt like two parts made whole.

Unfortunately, time has a way of making even mountain ranges nothing more than a tattered backdrop at a rundown portrait studio. Even jazz can become background noise—Muzak in a department store. Two completely different suits in the deck can become just cards, just as he…