"You're always saying that Brandon fell out of love with you, but…doesn't that mean it was bound to happen? Doesn't that mean it was the natural course? That he wasn't meant to stay forever and that although what you guys had was good, it wasn't something that would be forever?"

She was lying on her bed with Kyle, staring at her high-ceiling and chandelier, the bed so large it could have fit five more people. In jeans, her hair in a messy ponytail and a college t-shirt on, he realized how young she still was. She sighed, tucking her arms under her head,

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings,"

"That…" He trailed off.

What? Was untrue? Kyle knew first hand that that was exactly what killed anything pure and kind. Lying, hiding, secrets and betrayals.

"You should read more poetry, Kyle, that's where you learn the most about life. Life, raw life, is all about feeding your soul by reading someone else's, and poetry is just that; skinning all the coarseness from your heart and peeling it away to reveal who you really are and what you really want and what you really think. That's how you learn about living and loving,"

"You know, you talk like an adult a lot, Bernadette, but you look too young for words like that,"

"Age does not protect you from love, but love to an extent, protects you from age," She smiled.

Kyle felt his lips tug back into a humble smile as well and he closed his eyes, appreciating the smell of her neat and crème-color schemed room. He rolled onto his side, facing her,

"I still love him. What do I do now?"

She turned her head to face him and stared at him strangely.

"…you really are actually in love with him, aren't you?"

He lowered his eyes, looking away, his long, tangerine lashes clipping each other by the corners of his eyes as they narrowed.

"I am. I don't feel lesser than him, I don't think anything ill of him…I mean, I'm not 'not' disappointed in how he's been acting, but that's not it…just because I don't like the choices he's made, doesn't mean I don't…I can't explain it. I can't explain any of it. Everything he's ever done until now was for me, and everything I've ever done until now was for him and…we never spent an entire day apart and…he always accepted me even though I totally cramped any style we had, or rather, he had…and I remember all the stupid little things he'd say and do that made me all squirmy and my stomach and chest and…ugh, it's just been…it's just been so empty without him. I mean, Eric has been wonderful, but you're the one that taught me that the one I love will be my complete opposite. Irresponsible, inconsiderate, dim-witted, popular and social…and somehow, we never get sick of each other,"

"Think of some poetry," She replied simply.

He didn't think for long, "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…"

"What's that from?"

"The Bible. I thought you'd know that one," He smirked half-heartedly.

"Never been a religious woman," She shrugged, "Look, Kyle, there's a fairly simple science to love,"

"Science?"

"Immature love follows the principle that 'I love because I am loved', and mature love follows the principle 'I am loved because I love'. Immature love says 'I love you because I need you', and mature love says, 'I need you because I love you',"

They stared at each other for a few quiet moments until she asked, "So, which is it?"

"I need him,"

"So, you love him?"

"Because I love him," He corrected.

She smiled again and he was glad to see it; he found that the less Brandon showed his face and the more she talked about it and the more poetry they traded and the more she rested, the better she became. The healthier she looked, sounded and acted. Her youth came back to her, in bits and pieces, but it was coming back to her and reminding her that she was beautiful and wonderful and that she had much too much to look forward to.

"So, why not go and get him?"

"Easier said than done,"

"Hmm," She agreed, "Do you forgive him?"

"There's nothing to forgive. His faults make him who he is, and I love him for all that he is and isn't. And even though he tried to fill in the holes he began to miss, I love him for what he failed to be. I think if he just learned to live with what he is, things would go back to normal. He never used to care about what Wendy thought because he thought she didn't care about him anymore. The moment she shows an inkling of interest in him, he drops everything just to see if she's the one that can complete him. He's so hungry for love and attention, but I don't think it can make him the kind of happy he wants to be,"

"What kind of happy is that?"

He scoffed, "Humankind is a fickle one. My skin is hot, but my touch is cold, and adults are more children than children are. They mistrust so much and also trust far more than they should. They're innocent yet spoiled…" He trailed off shortly, "We always want what we can't have, we all want to die, but we're terrified of the unknown. We only need something when it's not there and we only admit we love someone when they're not there to hear it. Hands are lethal, mind is torture, hearts are bursting with love and broken from it all. We hurt just to know that we can. We're all masochists in a way. We think of the times we were happy when we're most downtrodden and we think of the saddest times when we're in too much happiness, because God forbid we have a second to appreciate our spirits lifting and falling at the same time and the miracle of our existence. Humans are only happy when they're struggling, otherwise what've they got to strive or hope for? Tomorrow is all about the struggle, about the thrill and the pain because it reminds us how good we had it yesterday and how good it can be tomorrow. It's how we are, and if ever I've known someone that is the epitome of paradoxes and twisted logic, the epitome of all mankind, it would be Stanley Marsh,"

She remained speechless.

"He's strong, but would never use that strength to hurt someone. He's suave and socially intelligent, much more so than me, but he can't tell that I'm in love with him. And if he did, he'd run, because it's easier to hide from the things that scare you than to actually face them. I'm unique to him, too much but too little, too different and all too much the same. He wants more of me, but can hardly stand a moment more of being with me. He's looking for stability in a world that offers anything but. And in all the bliss of his turmoil, he doesn't realize it. And I love him for that too, I suppose,"

"Now, that's poetry,"

He chuckled; after talking his face blue, all she has to offer are those three words. But three words meant a lot. In all his life, he had to admit that the most meaningful things were the smallest.

"I love you,"

"I hate you,"

"Talk to me,"

"I miss you,"

"I want you,"

"I need you,"

"Trust in me,"

"Stay with me,"

"Leave me alone,"

Always, never, forever and ending; far, near, beauty, ugly, harsh, soft, big, small, wonderful and terrible. All the small words, in the end, were the ones that mattered most. He closed his eyes, sighing,

"You think he misses me?"

"I know he does, Kyle,"

"How?" He quirked a brow, "How do you know that?"

"Because if I follow your logic, that humans only act in hopes of preserving their pain, then what would be most painful is that he would miss everything he pushed away. It makes most sense, I'd think,"

"And still makes no sense at all,"

"So are the paradoxes of mankind, Kyle. You knew that the one thing in the world that Stanley hates most is control, and so you knowingly took control of a great portion of his life; his school life. You wielded power you knew, subconsciously, would terrorize Stanley, because causing those you love pain gives you trouble and pain. You miss him, though, you love him and want to take his pain away. And a friend, a true friend, is someone who, upon seeing another friend in immense pain, would rather be the one experiencing the pain, than to have to watch their friend suffer. Humans are all weak, masochists, like you said, and our hearts pass each other with blades, wounding one another, and you can make all the promises you want and use pretty words that make someone's heart thump, but the messy truth is, you want to be in the pain that you cause him, and it's the same for him, because that is human nature,"

He blinked, his stomach dropping in realization.

"Am I so easy to read?"

"Only to me," She smiled, "Only because you're a teacher's pet,"