Doused with this morningedicts, the paper is torn into little pieces and thrown in the trash.

It continues speaking from the trashcan. Someone happens by, hears the commotion inside the trashcan, the burble-speak, the claymont-clamorings for attention.  That someone (not me) picks up the pieces from the trash bin, then painstakingly, the pieces back together, stringing along the message, discovering the message:

The message is now loud and clear: You love someone.

You can’t tear up the pieces again; it only works once. From then on you love them and nothing can tear that apart.