This is not a story about love. Not anymore, anyway. This is not a story where a (boy/girl/whatever) meets a (boy/girl/whatever) and they date and go to the movies and fight and makeup on top of the (Eiffel Tower/Empire State Building/Roof of your local Denny's) and they all live happily ever after because of course they do. Granted, it's an extension of that story, but this isn't it. If you wish to read a story like that, by all means put this book down and head over to the romance section, where I'm sure you'll find one that prominently features a well-oiled Fabio on the cover.
No no, go ahead, see if I care...Jerk.
As I said, this is not a story about love; rather, this is a story about what comes after. When the love is gone. When all the things you like, or used to like, whatever the case may be, just don't make up for the fact that being around them is emotionally draining. When you receive less joy from giving them flowers than you do carving the word "WHORE" into the driver's-side door of their car. When you start to look back and see all the little hints that seemed to scream "Run, you idiot, run! Why would you purposely waste your time on someone who obviously couldn't give two shits about you?!"
This is not a story about love. Just ask Jude and Valerie.
Once again, I know it's not much, but it's something I scribbled down between slinging Budweiser at people. It's a start I suppose, right? Anyway, if I can get this done by the end of the year, that would be pretty amazing, wouldn't it?