A Minute in Love

“Have you ever been in love,” she asked.

“Yes. Twice,” he replied.

“Only twice,” she asked.

“Well, twice and then a million times

every day,” he replied.

“How’s that work,” she asked.

“Well, I was really in love

twice. With the most

wonderful of women.

And I also fall in love with every

lovely woman I see on the train,

or the bus,

or at a stop light,

or tending bar,” he replied.

“Doesn’t that cheapen your love,” she asked.

“No. Not at all. I think it only

makes it stronger and more

available when needed. I know I’m

capable of love and being loved,” he replied.

“What do you do about all your

loves,” she asked.

“Well, two got away and I’ll always

miss them. I know I’ll never have

that sort of love again and it’s tough

and it hurts. But it’ll eventually hurt

less over time and I’ll be okay. But

the others, the train riders and bus

passengers and bar maids, the stop light love

affairs,  the constant falling in love,

I do next to nothing about,” he replied.

“Why don’t you do anything about them,” she asked.

“Because I know it’s just a fleeting, passing fancy. I know it

isn’t real love. It’s probably just desire that I slap a

fancier label on to make myself feel better,” he replied.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love,” she said.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.

“Do you love me,” she asked.

“Of course I do,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said.

She rose from her bus seat and moved

to the door. The bus stopped and she

exited to the street.