Love. When neither one trusts the other one cares at all.
Not one bit.
One thinks the other hates them, with their guts. The other
thinks the other is nonchalant. The epitome is when two persons sit on a bench
in a fading summer’s day in silence, not thinking of anything other than it
feels better to be near each other than it does not to be. Not a matter of
conversation simply presence. Then they aren’t lonely. They are happy. But
love, forsaken, taken for granted and lost to eternal thought, never makes its
presence known.
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