TWENTY - SIX

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Dr. Park left.

I keep on flipping through the medical textbook to search for the condition love.

While flipping through the pages, I realize that nothing smells the same; everything smells like the field of overgrowth where I read during the day. Everything smells like people who haven't cleansed themselves for a stretched period of time. Everything smells like rosemary sheets and lavender hand soap.

I can't remember the smell of lemon disinfectant. I should be able to, but I can't.

I keep flipping through the pages plastered with coffee ring stains, attempting to find the symptoms of love.

I assume I'll find: pulsing veins, racing heart, comfort, wandering thoughts. And pain. Lots of pain.

It's not in the textbook.

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