It was a radiant post-apocalyptic night. Our eyes met, and I knew that it would be safe to go your way. The lime luminescence of your skin, the malachite shade of your hair, the mint-tint to your nails. You were walking your little dog in the afterglow. What was his name? Moss? Pistachio? You could say this is a harlequin romance, but I disagree. Please don’t be jaded. I truly pine for you.