Everyday is Like Sunday

“Is he still in love with you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I sighed. “Which is stupid.”

“At this point, yeah, still being in love with you is stupid.”

“Or, at any point, it’s stupid to be in love with me.” I wasn’t sure what I meant, but I liked that I said it.

He grinned. “All the time?”

“It’s stupid to love me except on Sundays at three o’clock.”

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