"Because he reminded me of someone I used to be," she told him.
"If you always knew how it would end," she said, "you might have at least saved us both the trouble."
"The present is just so many possible futures, waiting all together in a crowded room," she told him, as she moved away.
She gave of herself once more, to show him how cruel he could be.
"I can forgive you for being unfaithful," he said, "but not for being indiscreet."
"Avalanche," she said to herself, using a secret language that only they understood.
"I was so wrong," he said. "That doesn't mean that now you're right," she said.
"It's as if we were interrupted at some point," she said, "and then we never quite got back around to finishing our story."
"Why do you always have to criticise?" He asked. "Its one big house of cards as it is."
"The world may not revolve around me," he said, "but I could go super nova at any minute."
"Do you love me?" He asked. "I'm not going to write a song about it, if that's what you mean." She said.
"You think I like this?" He asked. "I don't think you know anything else." She said.
"You're not like her," he told her. "That's right," she said, "I'm still here."
She almost believed it all, until he told her that he believed in her.
He stole her heart and kept it in a box by the bed. She found it one day and asked him what it was. "Oh, nothing," he replied.
She reached out to hold his hand, but touched only hair and sky.
She forgot that the only way to love him was to make him fall in love with her.
She kept the love letters he had sent her, to help mark the passage of time.
They would read the personals together, feigning humour, making mental notes.