"Are we good?"
"I guess we're good."
It was not the kind of climax, the instant denouement you'd expected, not the walk along the Great Wall of China, meeting in the middle, your all-consuming love visible from the Moon. It wasn't what you wanted to happen, but it was a perfectly logical conclusion to the series of premises you racked up throughout the years - you had a good go at each other, he moved to Rome out of spite. Seriously, you can crumple up the letters you never sent because they are just embarrassing considering the way things turned out, you can wipe the pink drool off your face. This is, this might be the end of the end of the beginning, the beginning of the beginning of the end. Either way, it is irrelevant which one of you asked the question and which one of you answered, but you must accept that at one point you pissed him off so much he moved to Rome. I wouldn't have met him if you hadn't, I can't say I'm glad that I did. You must also accept that I know you better than yourself, but first let me tell you my story.