He was always crunching numbers,
she, digesting words,
they made up a complex word problem,
describing an outlandish scenario
that would never occur in real life.
He’d sought Kodak moments,
she, Instagrammable ones.
Even though each believed
there was more merit in their medium,
they still managed to capture
the magic that was in each other—
his, in telling a story
& hers, in writing it.
When Fiddle met Violin,
they each believed they were better
than the other,
for Fiddle was preferred by the dirt poor,
by the filthy rich,
until they realized
that they still needed their bows
to make their bodies sing.