My feelings on storybook love suddenly feel dull and unnatural. For the life of me, I can’t seem to remember the fire I had with Allen. Allen and I were so serious all the time. We were two stubborn people who found their stubborn puzzle piece. I can’t recall passion—at least not the kind of all-encompassing obsession that clouds all judgment and keeps you up at night. I don’t remember whether I felt like Emily, desperately needing to see a guy at every waking moment. I can’t remember the last time I had a zip in my stomach, like when Cliff’s palm was on my knee.
