I feel like a bad movie on repeat. I feel like if you look at me one more time I'm going to be incapable of not quoting Humphrey Bogart in every movie he was ever in. I kind of feel like we should be in black and white, and maybe I should see something other than the hurt on your face.

Did I make you feel that?

You say: "I just can't."

I think: "The whole world is about three drinks behind."

You say: "We just can't."

I think: "Things are never so bad they can't be made worse."

You say my name. It kind of sounds like 'I love you.'

My head goes blank.

You walked in without an invitation. I was halfway between just fine and getting there when you waltzed in and made everything better before we destroyed it together. You took things that were yours before I even realized they were never mine to give. And I – I thought I was so smart with you – thought I had it all planned out until I realized I had no clue.

Yeah. You caught me off guard and for the first time I was okay. Because every time I fell, I fell hard and I fell fast and inches before my insides covered the pavement, you'd catch me with words that came out as my name and sounded like 'I love you.'

Why are your eyes so sad?

You say: "I'm sorry I did this to you."

I think: "I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me."

You say: "I'm not looking for someone better…"

I think: "If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life."

When was it that you got so far away? Were you ever close? Is this what it sounds like? The sound of my own heart cracking in two? Do you hear it?

Do you feel guilty?

Your apologies come on repetition. I wonder if you've rehearsed this. I think it might be easier to hear you hate me than hear you love me. I would rather you paint me as a monster, than this piece of perfect imperfection.

A monster I can deal with.

Are you still talking? When was the last time you took a breath? Even when the air goes quiet you're filling it with your frustration.

My mind shifts gear. It kind of sounds like Orson Welles.

I think: "In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed…"

You say: "I can't lose you."

I think: "But they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance."

You say: "I can't mess up and never see you again."

I think: "In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce?"

You say: "What would I have without you?"

And I say: "The cuckoo clock."

Have I lost it? [You're looking at me like I have] Am I crazy? [You made me crazy.] Still give a shit about me? [Your eyes say you still do.]

I hope you're thinking: "This is why she's worth it…"

But you say: "Huh?"

And I say: "The cuckoo clock."

"What about it?"

"They made it."

"Who made it?"

"The Swiss."

"Are you listening at all?"

I think: "To what? The sound of my heart breaking? You lying to yourself again? Humphrey Bogart? Orson Welles?"

I think: "It's all I can hear."

Yeah. You walked in without an invitation. I was halfway between just fine and getting there when you waltzed in and made everything better before we destroyed it together. You took things that were yours before I even realized they were never mine to give. And I – I thought I was so smart with you – thought I had it all planned out until I realized I had no clue.

"Here's looking at you, kid."

Yeah. You caught me off guard and for the first time I am okay. Because every time I fall, I fall hard and I fall fast and inches before my insides cover the pavement, you catch me with words that come out as my name and sound like 'I love you.'

And I – Well, I just realized that the only thing more powerful than love is fear.

Things happen for a reason. There's a time and place for everything. There's a reason why certain people meet & then there are some who should never lay eyes on each other. You could've met anyone. You could've had anyone's heart, but you stumbled on to mine. A one in a million chance, with a one in a million consequence.

Your eyes are half past broken, and I think your insides might look the same.

And I – Well, I just realized that it's funny.

I feel like a bad movie.

I say: "Of all the gin joints..."

Humphrey Bogart.

"In all the towns…"

Orson Welles.

"In all the world…"

You.

"You had to walk in to mine."

And now that's all it is.

Mine.