Ten days. It’s been ten days: the longest we’ve ever
been absolutely apart. Absolutely: not even a single
digitized word. I must separate myself from you; we must
separate in peace, like business partners off to expand in

different industries; we are not compatible; we corrupt
each other. Yet I am neither absolute nor resolute in my
avoidance; I do not call for absolute separation; I only
intend to ease the pain that must unavoidably accompany

absolute separation, which must inevitably occur, whether
near or far, cold or impassioned; it must occur.
Though we both agree it is a union of significance,
we have yet to draw out a formal contract. It is clear

to me now: we never will.
This has gone on too long to be merely a
rendezvous, an affair undertaken on an adventurous whim.
We are almost like a married couple: we spend more time

talking, arguing or otherwise, than we do kissing or admiring
each other. We are stilled, preserved in awkward ambiguity.