Love and duct tape.
I heard the best symbolism for love:
The first time you fall in love, it's like taking a fresh piece of duct tape, and smoothing it down over your arm, inbetween your elbow and wrist.
It fits right over your skin, snug.
When the love is over, the tape gets ripped off.
With it, comes hair, and bits of flesh, because the connection was so strong, and so close to your body.
You're left with scars and missing hair and skin and a bloody mess of your arm.
The next time you fall in love, that same piece of duct tape gets put on your arm, but the connection isn't a strong.
The tape is soiled, your arm is scarred.
It still sticks, though.
And it still hurts when it gets ripped off, only the pain pales in comparision to the first time.
And when I look down at my arm, I can't help but wonder whether any tape, from scotch to duct, will ever stick again.