Red currents sucked the swirling vacuum down to the depths of the ocean, frothing at the edges. Winged mistresses and a violin purse. Crooked fingers, no one to blame. But who is to blame for the breakdown of marriage? Eyes wander, hearts find new homes in diamanté trinkets. Reality kicks in that honeymoons don’t last forever, even though we would like them to. The honey sticks on to a frying pan of bittersweet leftovers, ready for the next day, and the next. Before it all gets too much. Before it all gets too repetitive, for some. Maybe you realise your forever lasted seven years rather than a lifetime. Maybe you realise that love is a turbulent plane journey, ups and downs, bright skies, dark clouds, day and night.  The dust settles on the divorce papers in front of you. Has the vacuum sucked the last piece of life in your love song, or will your love song play on for another day?


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