Exhausting.
I had once thought that love was a many splendoured thing. Perhaps layered with an icky wrinkle here and there, but the fabric of which was still a wondrous solution to all of life's problems.
Unfortunately, it isn't.
It is a measure of the amount effort taken to maintain such a beautiful facade. It is, a wonderful escape. A beautiful con. A rapturous feeling. Comforting.
How much effort to mantain something so precious-fragile, as such things tend to be.
How much before collapsing under the sheer effort expended to maintain this wonderful harmony.
Surely, there must be a solution to this riddle. How much, indeed.
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