Whispering Erosion
"Darling," she sighed, pyramids of dust cascaded from her lace curtain like secret confessions whispered to the wind. "Do you ever feel the stones beneath our feet... erm... moving? Like they personally... don't want us here?"
"It's the anthropomorphic trend of geology, my love," he replied, swept away by her desert-like passion and bemused angle, "like a seductive boulder wavering its strength in an opera of silence. They do tend to roll their eyes at us." She clutched her valiant fabric of honor as if it were a knight.
Yet in destiny's not-quite butterfingers grasp, the romantic sketch skidded off-course; romance hit snooze, and comedy took the wheel. "Did you just... you know, erode my heart? That's granite level commitment!" he exclaimed, as the very stage cracked under an audience of one, a lamas of awkward woolly wisdom.
"Do we need insurance for this?" she mused, dipping her quill into the ink of eternity.