“I told you that day: a pair of idiots. I thought she was leading you around by the nose--or some other organ.”

“Idiot. I told you not to fight the horse thing.”

“I told her “Have a good weekend.” Then I thought, “Idiot. It’s Sunday night.”

“You and I,” she said slowly, saying each word with care, “are a pair of scissors.”“A pair of scissors…” I replied, unsure of what she meant.“Alone, we’re knives. Sharp and nasty, made to hurt others. But together, we are scissors. Better, safer, more useful. But more than that, we are our missing halves. And whatever comes between us, we destroy.”“I like that,” I told her.“You don’t think it’s creepy?” she asked tentatively.“No, it’s not creepy. Because I love you.”

“Go away. I told you, I'm not interested."She looked from his lap to his face."Your nose is growing too.”

“I spent that whole damn day wandering around the city trying to figure out how to tell how much I loved you without sounding like an idiot.”