Prose II

Wouldn't it be crazy if one day I wrote a love song about you? Not one of those Juliet and Romeo allusions, just plain I. Wish. It. Didn't. Hurt. So. Much. We're going through this not bothering to calculate how much it will cost in the end. How much debt we owe the world in the end. Don't ever pop my bubble darling, try not to, because beneath this layer of scent and protective shield is just air. That's it. Air. Do I really need to tell you what fills it?