One perfectly ordinary, perfectly clear winter night, a Redhead and her Tim went to transfer money from his account to hers so they might pay their rent.  They watched the stars move, slowly, before climbing into her car, Bucky, and went to the bank.  Then the Redhead decided to surprise her Tim, and drove him to the place, behind his old dorm building, where they had their first kiss.  They kissed, and love was in their kiss.  All was right in the universe; the stars moved as they should, and gave witness to the perfect motion of the lovers’ hearts below.

 

“Will you marry me?” asked Tim.

 

“Yes,” said the Redhead.

 

Tim insisted that they get out of the car so he could ask her properly, on his knees, just so everything could be traditional.

 

But Tim couldn’t get enough of asking her, so he asked her again when they returned home, and again later at a splendid restaurant, and then one final time, when he had finally purchased (on layaway) the ring, which, while important, was not half as important as his sure and absolute knowledge that no-one in the whole world could satisfy his heart’s yearning and his eye’s attraction as much as she.  Two souls entwined will dance through time forever.