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THE CHEMISTRY OF LOVE<br />

a boy,<br />

a girl,<br />

and a withered old man<br />

They sat on cushioned chairs across<br />

from each other, knees touching, in a<br />

small coffee shop. The barista was in<br />

the back somewhere; the only other<br />

customer was an old man reading a<br />

novel in the corner of the room. The<br />

boy looked at the girl, and the girl<br />

looked at the old man. She liked to<br />

think that he was watching them, too,<br />

when neither of them were watching<br />

him. Perhaps he lost his lover when<br />

they were both nineteen. He has been<br />

lonely ever since, and has found that<br />

one of the most beautiful things is<br />

unrestrained love – the kind that only<br />

youth can sustain.<br />

She turned back around and faced<br />

the boy. Isn’t it funny how there is you,<br />

and then there is the way that I perceive<br />

you? That the firing of neurons in their<br />

synapses through the squishy grey matter<br />

of my brain makes up my perception<br />

of you. He looked at her, silently,<br />

unblinkingly. Maybe he didn’t think<br />

it was funny that he was just a series<br />

of neural impulses in her mind. Or<br />

maybe his coffee had lost its heat and<br />

he couldn’t decide whether to order<br />

another one. He lifted a hand, pale<br />

beneath layers of scarves and sweaters,<br />

and gently brought it to her face.<br />

He brushed a few of her hairs away<br />

from her eyes the way one would fold<br />

delicate lace.<br />

Under his doe-like gaze, she<br />

continued. That every time I see you,<br />

hear your voice… think of you, those<br />

chemical stimuli trigger the release of<br />

certain molecules. I only know a few of<br />

them by name, but together they create<br />

this sensation that I’ve learned to call<br />

happiness. She kissed him on the left<br />

corner of his mouth. Serotonin. She<br />

kissed him where the lines of his jaw<br />

end. Norepinephrine. She kissed his<br />

fluttering eyelid. Dopamine. He kissed<br />

her on the center of her lips. Oxytocin.<br />

The old man closed his book and<br />

looked out the window through<br />

streaks of rain. The boy didn’t notice<br />

the pattering of raindrops over the<br />

pulse of his heart. The girl listened<br />

to the sound of her cells dying, and<br />

wondered when her neurons would<br />

become too frail and cynical to form<br />

synapses with each other.<br />

BY|TIFFANY NGUYEN<br />

PAGE 4

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