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Love is like sushi
fragile and breakable.
It comes in many shapes and sizes,
tasting of opposites combined to create an elegant contrasting symphony,
each holding individual versions.
He and I would be the California roll,
with a misleading white rice of superficial appearances,
sprinkling ourselves with sensational sea salt and colorful sesame seeds.
We cut ourselves away, claiming individuality,
by a clean cut slice with an instant thump,
but look on the inside, this love is the same.
Each part of us seems to be made for the other,
despite the odd combination
of my meek and subtle avocado
with his attentive imitation crab.
In fact, we enhance each other.
Our love,
one and only,
bonded together,
yet,
still
so fragile.
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