We make a funny couple, You and I,
like divorced parents keeping it together
for their child. What is this chain that is still
holding me to you then,
and you to me? Who is this child of divorce?

I see him, at last, through the window.
He is stark and skinny, dressed in a
simple shirt complete with bow-tie. His
mouth is open, but he is silent.

When will we forget this child, and
move on? Let someone else have him, perhaps,
and flee, flee from each other, till
we meet each other on the other
side of the world.