Gas tank.

Love shoots her in the middle of her forehead, point-blank range. It's such a game of hide and seek, the endless riddles plaguing the days of a beautiful dream, now on its last legs, now brand new again. The polarity is annoying, astounding, magical. A word throws her off balance, and then he pulls her back up, preventing a hard, skull crushing fall.

She remembers curling up against walls and sobbing till her heart is empty, letting out all the joy that made her feel like she would burst. And once she has been detoxified of all that happy, he lets her in again. In her quiet musings, she feels quite like the gas tank of a car that's been going on for a long, long, long time.

She needs a miracle, he a new faith.