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  • Here, you bought me a lily. I suggested a bird of paradise and you looked at me like that was the craziest shit you had ever heard.

    Look, I really believed you when you said you needed flowers for a colleague’s birthday.

    We were at Monceau Fleurs. We came from McDonalds. You told me I needed to lose a few kilos. You grabbed your sides for emphasis.

    You also broke up with me there. I thought you were joking. You told me you were. And then later that night, you told me you weren’t. I sat outside my apartment building, on the steps of the adjacent pharmacy.

    It was the first of many breakups.

    I’m getting ahead of myself – the flower. The lily, well, the head really, the rest was cut. In a little globe vase, in a little plastic box. The lily – our mutually favorite flower.

    Behind the Sacre Coeur, you told me to close my eyes. I did. I heard rustling. You put something in my hand. You said to open my eyes.

    And it was the same goddamned lily. And you wonder why I loved you so hard, why I didn’t fall in love so much as fucken hurtle myself into it.

    I pinned you against a wall to kiss you. You let me, you said stop, I did.

    Later that night, you ended things. Later that night, we were back together. Later that week, a similar cycle.

    By December it wasn’t fun anymore and still we said we loved each other.

    On we went. On we went. Buckling under the pressure of the expectations: you go to Paris, you fall in love. End of story. Forget happiness, you’re in love. It’s what you came for. So shut up and make it work.
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