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Warmed Max's bed was his hot water bottle.
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Romance and love was a mysterious language
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He'd given up on.
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If only Mary had asked how a toaster works
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Or asked for an explanation of the chaos theory.
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If only there was a mathematical equation for love.
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He kept eating and thinking.
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But love was not like Max's rubik's cube.
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It could not be solved.
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No matter how he analysed it, the results were negative.
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Beat it, creep!
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He felt love but couldn't articulate it.