the rush

She lays you out with these wide-open mouthed kisses, and she turns on that hilarious lovergirl voice that starts out at the tip-top of her register and slides down a few pitches – aaaah-ah – like she’s stroking your hair with it.

But what really knocks you over – I mean, the thing that really forces you to think about the when and where and how of the split second when laughing and crying are the same thing – is realizing that reedy voice is her best, most earnest approximation of all your expressions of love. 

So much is clever hardwiring. I make her smile. I am rewarded with a dopamine rush. I am hooked. I want to make her smile again. (She receives my care and attention.)

But love’s voice – single-minded in its tenderness, hell-bent on kissing you – she learned.


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