I wrote this once.

Her mind appeared perpetually youthdrunk, and he was always longing for the serum (or poison) that took her there. Her incorrigible optimism and naive bravery within eyeshot of the overwhelming-everything made him weak in knees and spirit, sometimes leaving him nearly in-tears and shattered form.

And other times, well, those other times he led 
the way, cutting away at the underbrush and producing his own flavour. He’d speak freely with stunning eloquence and emphatic, almost painful heart. And he spoke beautiful truth, in expression and pretense. 

Then on those days when they both were free of generational inhibition they would take on adventures of the retrospectively fool-hardy genre. Together they would accomplish feats that, separately, would make them blush at the very mention of the stemming thought.

And in their locked eyes (their eyes were always meeting in every setting, no matter) there was contained wild; raging wild held in by delicate glass, only to the degree that you knew for a goddam fact they’d burst and break, only they didn’t. 

Though he was never certain of hue, he’d mastered aesthetics and for that knew her robustness therein.

Of course, most feelings know transience, and most young eventually discover temperance. When that happens, they’ll have nearly nothing. When they both meet with the sobriety of middle-adulthood, the shaking, standard reality of career-bound, goal-oriented, 9-to-5 living, most of what they know and share will die, fearful of suppression in their coming-of-average-age. 

But still something will struggle to breathe there and they’ll both know it and they’ll both acknowledge it independently and it will take only one chance meeting in a flurry of sick days and time off and maternity leave and disability and even ability when they’ll not be thinking and in a sudden flood of sepiatic-nostalgia both return to try the drying tap and try and try so eagerly for just a sip, just a taste, even just the memory of being care-free, or philosophical, or more adventurous, or less judgemental; of being youthdrunk, again, together.

They’d realize that happiness is knowing that in the one second you’d convinced yourself to stop thinking about the other, the other had just realized they couldn’t cease to think of you.