[ But Alexandrie shakes her head quickly. ]

No. I began to love you because you were real. A living bloom in a bouquet of flowers gilded, painted, and silk.

Real flowers bruise, yes. Tear, lose petals to mishandling.

[ Softly: ]

Lose them to girls who pull them apart petal by petal to ask if they are loved.

[ She pauses, reaches to straighten a piece of his hair that doesn’t need it. ]

Real things break, and show their breaking. I can understand why you thought it was the breaking that I loved.