“She was in a coma, and had been unresponsive for years. Every Tuesday I’d visit her and read to her, and as I’d leave I’d always say, “I love you,” as I’d kiss her on her forehead. One day as I was leaving, I said my normal I love you and kissed her, when her eyes popped open, she looked directly into my eyes, smiled, and then she said, “Spaghetti for brains albino idea weasel.” And that was when I stabbed her with a piece of garlic toast. It seemed like the most appropriate response. The police didn’t seem to agree, and I could tell by the way they bagged the evidence in a To Go box that they thought I was the lowest of the low, lower perhaps than even a politician. Well, not quite that low, but certainly with the cockroaches, vultures, and aids-infested vampires.”

“I called to tell her I loved her, which was smart, because if I’d have done it in person, I’d have caught her with another man. I don’t care if he was my clone, it isn’t right and it pisses me off. I was backstabbed by myself.
”

“It was one-way glass, and I was on the inside and she was on the outside. She was looking at me with the confidence of a woman who knows she won’t be scrutinized for scrutinizing me, and I was looking at her like I normally look at myself—though she probably thought I was staring at her breasts. Well, can you blame me? I had a stain on my shirt—and she had great tits.”

“She didn't say it, I only thought she said it. So really it was my thought, my words, and not hers. How could I confuse "I love you" with "May I take your order?”

“When trying to find the words to tell her how much I loved her, I stumbled across the ingredients for grilled cheese sandwiches. That’s when I realized she was the melted cheese to my toast. And the guy she’s currently seeing, the guy she left me for, well, I guess he is the tomato soup.”

“We were in love. When I say we, I don’t mean her and I. I mean me and my clone were in love with her. But she didn’t even know I existed, just as I didn’t know my clone existed. I still don’t know he exists.”

“Her name was Rebecca. Or at least that’s what her nametag said. She was making my coffee at Starbucks as I admired how her green Starbucks apron matched her bright green eyes. She had hair the color of coffee with a hint of cream in it. I was trying to act casual and not make it seem like I came in here only to see her. The truth is, I hate coffee. That’s not entirely true. I do like a hint of coffee in my cup of sugar.”