A lonely portal in a backgalaxy

Though apparently galactically themed, this has nothing rather to do with the sort. It is a dissertation on all that has lay'd here before now, and that which will lay here to come.

Hers was a life of light, of laughter. Of lumiescence and love, a life lived in luxury. There were no dark corners in her world. Each inch lit brightly, each rock turned, each hovel discovered and crafted. She was a white, a pink, a yellow, a bright colour, she flowed with colour and life and ribboned everywhere. She spread like pollen on the wind through a room, settling on everything, seeding everything. She was blonde, her rambunctious hair overflowing from confines and into cascades of gold. Her procured smile, her distant sun close upon the horizon. Her skin neither started nor ended, it spread in soft ripples over every shining inch of her. There was nothing on her that was dull, nothing quiet, nothing that simmered. She bubbled and boiled and didn't let up.

He had never known light. He was dark, in every way. From his black eyes, to skin smeared with black, with grime and filth and death. His black spread more to his soul, coming in from the night, the dark alleys he inhabited, the strong smell of whiskey and thick black smoke of a thousand breaths on his breath, his hands, his face. The dark entered him through every orifice, in every pore it stuck. His long stringed hair hung thickly about him. He was nimble, heavy boots curling about his feet, his quick long fingers grabbing, taking what he wanted. To him, there was no light. To him, black, dark, lived in and on. For them to meet, would be a collision of worlds, of cosmic forces. No such meeting could be by chance. Such a meeting was fate, was destined, was meant. There were no chances. There was no fate.

He met her in a dark room, flickering with light. She, lit. He darkened corners. It was a hot night and she was damp with sweat, earthy, heated. She moved, over, over, the steady beat in and in. He stood. He moved to her. Drawn, moth to flame, predator to prey. He touched her, she did not know. So it went on.

He took her limp body, and took it for all to see. He left her for all to enjoy the light. But she glowed no more. It was only death, only death. It was meant. There was so much missing, so much mystery. She was and then she wasn't. From there, he melted to the background, to the black, to the dark.