Don’t like him. Don’t like her. I just pleasantly tolerate your presence around mine’s.
I cannot love you. I am in love with someone else and I must be sure that I am where I am supposed to be. I need to settle down and you came too late, you came too early, you do not exist and I cling to you.
Maybe I am starting to like him, maybe I like him more than I thought, and our squabbles turn to smiles, and our fights are hidden in the symbolism of care.
I must be something for you. I almost feel the awful stench of responsibility flowing through me, maturing sensations, foolishness fading… do I learn? Why do I learn?
What does she know? What does he know? Does she even suspect? Does he think about it too? It must be what I think it is, what other people have love has spread to me.
I cannot even believe it. He just thinks of her with someone else and she just imagines a life without him and the mathematics are suddenly a thing of the heart. You plus me, multiplied by kids, divided by the time we have left. Is it disgusting how you think, I should think about you?
This is our romance, where he does the grandiose gesture and she bundles in her mind to accept or decline it. Am I so very wrong to want you for myself? I will die for the love I share with you if those circumstances were ever to arrive, so it may be that it could happen or that it could not happen. Why didn’t I like you when I met you?
He wants to hold her forever, she wants to love him forever, and the obstacles are gone, and I wrap my arms around our happiness because after the first course is done, there will be no more turmoil for our love and no more problems but to look each other within the eyes and say the words. The word, the word which is love, which is this feeling we have and all the roads we have fought against, and every touch, and every kiss.
She has found her man, he has found his woman. This is all what has happened in our fallings of love and if I don’t love what you’ve become, I’ll take it.