They were not in love. It's just that the subject, as
such, never really came up. It kind of loomed over them like a blissfully
stupid cloud. The love cloud.
Guaranteed to rain on your brain, 'til you're moanin' with
seratonin.
Maybe what was happening was that they were in love with the
idea of being in love. But that's still love, right? Instead of loving each
other, they loved an idea. An aspiration. A wish. The other person was more or
less of an afterthought. Somewhat expendable, or at the very least,
interchangeable.
I love that you make me feel like I'm in love. You, on the
other hand, I can take or leave.
Of course, it was just a matter of time before the truth of
each other, the hard fact of their unique selfness, their one-of-a-kind
snow-flakiness, became unavoidable.
I may be a broken toy, but you are a Chinese chow maow with
nothing but lead paint.
Saying goodbye in these circumstances is always very awkward.
"I just had your car towed."
"That's okay, those Flip videos I said I erased are now
on the internet."
