To them it's getting warmer, every day by day. "I thought it was freezing, but now that feeling's gone." "You're just getting used," he said, "you worry bout that oldwife, and other things that might just impose on our lives." "I'm not concerned, cus it really feels good, and I'd make this place hotter if only I could." "And we handled the cold so we can deal with the heat, I mean, let's lose those moonboots, cus they're now obsolete." Two little frogs just dazing away. But she's the first one to feel that something fishy's going on. Surrounding is the one thing which they easily get conformed. The water's really chilly, but together they stay warm. Just like any old frogs, they just lay around dappin'. Anyway, time passes by and nothing really happens. He, high on hope, her visions long furled. And the frogs are waiting, not anticipating, while they should be praying. Thus, even though their passion's on the verge of stagnation, love's a component in their somewhat strange relation. Matched to fit, thus, would be a slight exaggeration but otherwise would lead to either one's suffocation.
But the smart one is good at taking care of her needs, while she teaches him things on which one cannot read. From tadpole to girlfrog, totally by her own, so she lives for the company, she can't be on her own. Dreaming of the past, no plans of the future, she believes that life should be a dopy dance of cachucha. And the time she don't have she'll find a way to borrow. A grasshopper one could say, with little thoughts about tomorrow. One of them is an MBA from Swamp University, the other showing signs of immaturity. They don't know about nothing but their beau monde.
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