Pencil to Paper

In the dim light, things stopped being so important. The light threw everything into limbo, making the world surreal, making everything glow in a way as to remove all traces of reality.
They spent all night with each other, although most of their night was spent in their respective homes, lying in their solitary beds, and just thinking. About that dim, barely lit world where things ceased to matter and importance was given to important things, not to things like age and time and place.
The dimly lit world went with them, carrying each forward through time, connected by a single thread that was frequently not strong enough to hold them both. Taking turns, they flitted on ahead, playfully settling just close enough for a breeze to touch the other before taking off again.
She teased and he teased, and together they rose in a whirlwind of playful banter and witticisms, as the earth fell away, taking with it considerations of ties and bonds and reality and practicality. They each swept the other on, regardless of how wrong or right or anything of the kind.
Because they were having too much fun being butterflies.