"Isn't it a sort of passing strangeness," one said to another, "a sort of understood oddness, that when we love someone so much, we tear a bit of ourselves. And it's never hemmed or fixed. Like that mood ring I left swimming in the drain of the shower for weeks, now stained a permanent and beautiful ocean blue feeling."
"What?" said the another to the one.
"But that's not quite right, there's no sorrow in the breaking. It's just a passing strangeness, that's all."