Placebo

There is a man behind the train station who sells Love in pills. He does good business in February and at Christmas, but I buy them all year long, popping one a week, steady as clockwork.

The pill will whisper in my blood, in my ear, in my heart “You are not alone after all” and though I know it is a lie, I swallow it anyway.

This is for Three Line Tales 263. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Samuel Regan-Asante for providing the prompt photo!

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