So long, Mr. Perfect

It was real, it was fun, and now you're on your way home.

There's safety in emotion when you know it couldn't be real, when the object of your affections lives across the country, or loves another person, or, even better, both.

Still hurts a twitch, though.

Love is a scam, concocted by poets, executed by actors, and experienced by willing flocks of hungry humans, who have forgotten the joy of living dangerously. Wouldn't it be beautiful if love stories were nonfiction? Sadly, they are not.