By Kamryn Brinson

Love never stays.

You met her on a girls night out.

She said her name is Eros but just call her Love. She likes how round it sounds.

She was dancing with Excitement, hands all over and sweat mixing. They’re always on again off again with no real strings attached.

You know him, seen him everywhere and any time. He’s a really cool dude. You wish you saw him more honestly.

Love looks different this time. Not stilettos and lashes and waistbands that leave marks; she’s in platform boots and a cotton mini dress. Pigtail buns and dark rimmed eyes. A little sexy sweet.

They both follow you home arm in arm.

They stay a while.

Excitement can’t stay always because he has things to do, but he pops in almost every day. In the beginning.

With Love around, it’s dance parties and movie nights and laughing over wine and slightly burned food left too long in sacrifice for kisses.

She’s everything she wasn’t last time, but she’s new things too. She goes silent sometimes, she leaves the back door open. She posts too much and professes herself too little. But when she does, oh when she does, it sounds like birds in morning in summer and waves big enough to pull the moon back down to you.

One day, you both collapse so hard on the couch, it breaks. But you don’t notice, too wonderfully wrapped up in each other.

One day you wake up to Attachment barking. He’s usually a lazy dog, sleeping and comfortable with his treats.

He barks now though.

Love’s gone.

But her stuff is still there.

Her mountains of notes and letters, her favorite shoes, the perfume bottle she spritzes every morning and night. That smell has seeped into the bedsheets.

In the next room, Reality runs in her cage, without stop. The wheel spins so fast it squeaks- it hurts and rings, like tinnitus.

You’ve always had Reality, ever since you were a kid. She was the last gift Santa gave you. You’ll keep her with you no matter what.

You aren’t quite sure what to do with Love gone. You search and cry, scream a little. You don’t know how she could leave without her shoes, without her stuff, without her You. You sleep and eat and don’t eat and watch tv for days straight.

Eventually, when everything tastes like sick and the drink doesn’t help, you call your friends over.

Little cousins Anger and Pain run around, let out energy by painting, expressing themselves in red and oranges and blacks. With them around, you think thoughts that surprise you. Part of you feels good to be evil, until they leave at least. 

Loyalty helps you rip up the carpet, and you find cracks in the floor. Luckily, Loyalty makes the best foundations. Friendship helps her mix the concrete and lay the beams. You get some scratches helping with the heavy lifting, but they don’t hurt any more than anything else. You have new lessons and scars to accept. 

Twins Hope and Lusi stop by often, but you can’t always tell them apart. Attachment definitely can’t. He likes them most out of your friends; he runs and snuffs and licks at them whenever they come up the drive. They really aren’t even that nice to him, but he worships them like they can bring back the sun. He still waits for Love at the door every day, breath and wet nose marks blurring the glass.

Joy gifts you a new carpet. The twins help you pick out a couch- similar to the last one but not the same color. That would hurt a bit too much. Loyalty and Friendship hangs up some photos, old and new. Some hurt to see but it’s not so strong- less carving knife, more slicing knife. You frame what Pain and Anger made too; it’s worth keeping around. No point hiding the dirty parts.

You finally settle back in. You cook a nice dinner for yourself, nothing burnt. You force yourself to dance and laugh alone; it feels goofy at first. You spend more time petting Attachment and watching Reality in her cage, burrowing and eating and living unbothered. You still glance at the door, but only to check the weather, to step out and maybe feel the breeze. One day, there she is. At the end of the drive.

Love comes back. Don’t know for how long but you’re happy to have her.