You're walking down the street in the winter with your loved one.
Holding gloved hands. The cold is stinging your nose but it is one of
those days when the sun is making everything glisten and you've
managed to dress well enough that the cold is not so bad, and besides,
you've got warmth in your heart.

Then, for some reason, the loved one starts to squirm, so you hold on
to the glove a little tighter and you keep on walking, but now the
cold is starting to feel pretty cold.

Your squirming loved one is getting a little more agitated so you keep
on squeezing and the combined action of your squeeze and her squirm
pops her out of the glove.

You're left there, sitting on the cold ground, clutching the glove
because that's your token, that's your icon, and it's all you've got
left. It is the symbol for the love, but it isn't really the love, but
that doesn't matter because it is something other than nothing.

At some point your ass is going to get cold enough that you get up and
do something else.