“Love is like . . . those orange circus candies.”
“The peanuts?”
“Yeah.”
In unison we allowed our assumptions to access our minds.
Those vibrant sponges of sweetness.
“……How?”
He threw me an appalled glance. Then his hands, frantically, began talking.
“They’re . . . empty calories that . . . get stale over time and . . .”
Alas,
I was deafly in love.
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