1 and 1/2 mornings later (Some Love Stories) ONly half a sun came up that morning which was half a morning. He'd only been half-asleep, anyway. She wondered if love was like this, if it was a science after all, and it's decay could be measured in half-lifes, each day half the misery of the day before, with nothing filling up the missing halves created each day, each new disintegrated now-nonexistent half only half the size of the day before's. If so, he knew, walking thru half a city, it would never go away. The runner never crosses the finish line in that paradox. It was comforting. Which paradox, her now- half-sister asked her. Every paradox, he shrugged halfheartedly. He wondered where it went, the misery, the ache, everything else. Did it disappear? Did someone else inherit it? Dark matters, came her half-finished thought. Is an empty glass truly possible? Or would it just be filled with 2 halves of nothing? Her chest ached. She was afraid that someday it might not.