Love in Miniature
Louise Bourgeois. “10 AM is When You Come to Me” (2006).
Inspired by the New York Times’ “Tiny Love Stories” column, the Review hosted a contest soliciting love stories in the spirit of Valentine’s Day. Though condensed into 100-word packages, the stories below nevertheless succeed in capturing the joy, vulnerability, humor, and grief that are all embedded within love.
Contest Winner
Grandma always knows:
My cheeks were chubby still when she combed my hair every morning, made plaits with bows and baubles. My hair was loved and beautiful.
Soon she swam across the ocean; years later i sank and considered my life, considered its reaper: God, or myself? Atlas bore the world on his shoulders; Jesus on his body; and I, my hair. I set crucifixion for March 12th.
That day a package came from china. Jujube for my parents, knickknacks for my brother – and for me an ox-horn comb inscribed “kai xin kuai le”: happyjoyous. Grandma’s wishes for my life.
— Connie Jiang ‘23
Honorable Mention
It was 1986, a Friday night, and they were going to the movies. Top Gun was showing. Halfway through, she spilled her cherry ICEE all over. Her face splotched redder than the sugary stain on her pants. Later, when they exited the theater, there was the palpable tension of a first date drawing to a close. He tried to defuse it: “Wow, that’s one bright streetlamp.” Her lips spread into a grin which spread into a giggle. “Um, that’s the moon.” He joined in, both embarrassed and relieved, and took her hand. So then they were even.
— Anonymous
General Submissions
We didn’t speak the same language, but he hugged me gently, like he’d known me since birth. Later, he called my grandparents and asked after the American great-grandchild he couldn’t talk to.
The thing is, he’d know—my grandmother before memory leaked out of her mind like water from a sponge. He’d fill in the gaps of her life that my mother and grandfather can’t.
His burial was last year on Zoom, locking everything in a matryoshka doll of “if”s—fantasies nestled into wishes. Now I make promises.
I’ll go to Korea. I’ll go to his grave. Then I’ll know.
— Anonymous
That night we kissed
Under the full moon.
It was cold, all I needed was your
Body to feel warm,
Feel your heart clinging to mine,
Know at least under this moon
You’d be mine.
You told me queer is beautiful
Because when others pass and see us,
When they turn their heads,
They know they will never be
As happy as you and I sitting on those marble steps under the shining moon.
I wanted to cry,
I wanted to hold you,
I wanted to crawl into you and hide
To know it was all going to be okay.
— Anonymous
In the shimmering springtime of April, something felt amiss. The sun was sneaking behind the willow tree but Rose hadn’t yet come to visit. Daisy restlessly ruffled her feathers and watched a petal dawdle about her in the clear pond water. For all of her little feathered life, Rose sat with Daisy to share magical stories about the big blue sky. Without Rose, Daisy was lonely! Mother Duck swam over and nestled a wistful Daisy into her wing, saying “Be patient my little duck! In order to love someone, you have to learn how to feel together while being alone.”
— Anonymous
Our love started in the band hallway.
We were seven different kids, with different backgrounds, eating different lunches on the crusty vinyl because we didn’t know where else to go. Our memories could fill a coming-of-age movie. Spilling secrets on my roof; 2 AM diner runs; lying on the kitchen floor; laughing until we couldn’t breathe.
My dad always asks if we ever run out of things to talk about. When you spend that much time with the same people, you’re bound to.
I tell him we never will. Being with them is like being with six better versions of myself.
— Anonymous
One time I hooked up with this guy who was a self-proclaimed gadget freak. He had a Google Home when it was really buggy and had little functionality (at least I thought so). He tried to impress me by reciting “OK, Google,” and giving a command to his device. It was a reverse aphrodisiac, but we still did it and it was okay other than the fact that he gave me syphilis.
— Anonymous
I’m so embarrassed.
I didn’t tell anyone because I wanted to protect you. And because I was ashamed. Ashamed I tolerated it all, ashamed I let it happen, ashamed I granted you more forgiveness and grace than you deserved. And in the end I was hoping it was worse than I knew. Just so I could escape the gray mess that tempted me with compassion. I hoped you’d say yes when I asked, I wanted it to be easy, I wanted a reason to leave.
“You deserve better and I can’t give it to you—let that be the reason.”
— Dani Kaufman-Sedano
I don’t mind the 12 o’clock lunch rush at the Sci Café. It’s usually my first social interaction of the day. I’ll run into a friend or two, strike up a random conversation.
But today, there was a blizzard of a line out the door. I was too cold to bother pointing out the cute jacket or the killer boots.
And then I saw them. One, two, three people behind. Long red hair so delicate that the tiniest snowflakes would land between strands.
“Gosh, incoherent laughter so funny, Jordan!”
So I pulled out my phone: https://cygnet.sccs.swarthmore.edu/.
— Anonymous
we met at an outdoor halloween party, in the pouring rain; i was dressed as wednesday addams, and he had drawn-on cat whiskers and a tube top (unrelated to his costume). i was so charmed that i couldn’t help but kiss him. it was past both of our bedtimes and neither of us liked parties. i couldn’t have known what was to come: how something that began as costumes and charades grew into earnesty and sincerity, how the only honest thing about that night was how it felt when he held me.
— Anonymous
Like the hands of a clock, time runs on a cycle. Starting from 12 on Monday, come Tuesday, Wednesday, they roll down the week, wrapping back up on the weekend to continue their rotation.
We would always meet on Sundays. That time especially I could not wait for the end of the week.
It was supposed to be the day I tied my life to yours. I guess I was just a little too late. They say it’ll get easier with time. monday came again, then tuesday, then wednesday, thursday, friday, saturday. I never saw Sunday again.
— Tammy Lam
The word “love” would have been spelled “luve” today, but the Norman scribes thought the “U” looked too similar to “V” in handwriting so they changed it to an “O.”
— Ark Lu
I met the brown eyed boy on the first day of orientation. We were introduced through a spirited game of Bunny Bunny and reacquainted after the fun fact portion of our first RA meeting. The brown eyed boy discovered I liked him and asked me out; our first date was in Sharples: pasta bar. Under those dimly lit Sharples lights, I realized: his eyes were blue. And I’ve looked into those deep blue eyes a thousand times, but each time I can’t help but smile, as I know I’m looking at my best friend.
— Anonymous
My feet are always cold around this time of year. The first time we laid in bed and my cold feet brushed against him, I quickly shifted away and apologized. He then moved my feet back and told me his family always lets their cold limbs rest on each other because this simple act shows how much they care. Now every time we lay together, I put my ice cold feet on his legs. His enduring of them is his silent way of signaling we will share this excess of warmth that love creates.
— Anonymous