"The comedy is over."

What I was then was young. You remember being young, don't you? What those years presented was an excuse to be irrational, carefree. It was an excuse to see you in a different, a more refracted light. You would have to respect that the things that I believed in and held in awe during those years aren't the same things that I understand now.

It was your silence --the singular thing that stretched me out then made me immobile and hard. It should have made me want more of you but it did not. There should have been accusations, shouting matches on anonymous sidewalks, complaints, desperate measures to be rid of each other. Instead, there was that empty world, a back turned to me forever. And now, I will tell you truly, that that home in me that you spoke of so fondly once is gone. There is no one to blame, only fate, perhaps. A confusion of chances, our hopeful beginnings.

You remember being young, don't you? That's all there was to it, really. I have moved on, have outgrown your secret poetry and your tired hands. This is all you need to know, all I will let you know.