Two atoms dance. A quantum waltz. 

These two particular atoms have spent aeons together. Billions of years ago, amidst an expanding universe, quarks and electrons collided and formed two intrinsically connected atoms. Protons and neutrons clustered together, a mass of empty space pulsing with untapped energy, and an intense attraction that’s more primal than logical. A magnetic pull kept them both in each other’s orbit, a love that is indescribable and comparable only to two souls intertwined. 

But all stars eventually burn out. As mountains erode, so does time erode a previously unshakeable relationship. Romance has given way to routine, and routine breeds predictability and apathy. They spend less and less time together. An awkwardness has developed between them. And those nuclei aren’t as electrically charged as they used to be.

With a heavy sigh, one atom says to the other; “I’m sorry. I just don’t trust you anymore.”

“Why?” the other atom replies. “Because I make up everything?”

“No, because I saw you with that Nitrogen atom.” 

“They make me feel like I’m walking on air—”

“This is no laughing matter. And I know matter.”

“Sorry. You really want to break up?”

“I’m positive,” they say, with a rueful glance. “We’ve got to split.”

Then they explode.