I have a friend with a storied love life. If a love life could tell stories his would require volumes. Though there would be more than a fair share of short stories. The shortest sliver of a story stories. Nano bits masquerading as a story.
To be fair, there would be some novellas too.
The ending of one almost always marks the beginning of another.
Now, he’s suddenly loopily beyond all hope in love.
How do I know?
He says things like this:
Her sweat is like honey.