He was a hard-boiled journalist
who believed that truth was so soon buried,
he would outscoop his colleagues
so that he could put it all out there ASAP;
she was a soft-hearted historian
who believed that by letting the dust settle,
the truth would either present itself
or degrade altogether.
She had an overactive imagination,
he, an overactive pituitary,
yet it was she who told the tallest stories,
him being the only one who understood any of them,
for his head was as much in the clouds
as her feet were off the ground.
He was journalism,
she, reality TV.
When they came together,
they created the fake news
that surpassed every rating
they’d ever had.
When the crime scene photographer
met the wedding photographer,
the former brought stark realism to her life,
& the latter brought whimsical idealism to his.
They were the bloodhounds of bloodlines,
for she used DNA databases to catch cold-case criminals,
he, to reconnect people with their long-lost relatives.
Her work brought justice, even as his brought joy;
they saw what they did not as a career,
but rather, as the fulfillment of a calling from a higher power.
He spent his life preserving old things;
she spent hers creating new ones.
When she found him in the archives
& he found her in the newsroom,
they realized they both had something
to offer the other: