You wouldn’t risk losing your “soulmate”—your word, not mine— would you? But why haven’t I heard a peep from you since last Friday when you gave me that “I think we both need a break” speech? I mean really, what a tired line: “It’s not you, it’s me.” I hear your sister talking, that’s who I hear. She’s a walking cliché. It’s not you or me, it’s her. Is she the one who convinced you that I always make things complicated? Maybe something has prevented you from getting in touch with me, like a ruptured appendix, or a bank holdup with hostages, or some kind of accident (for example, an espresso machine blew up in a crowded Starbucks and you tried to run through a closed glass door, which shattered; a gargoyle fell off a building façade onto your foot and when you tried to hop across the street you were hit by a bus; one of those driverless cars went berserk and veered onto the sidewalk, breaking both your legs). If you’re lying in a hospital bed right now and you’re suffering from amnesia (not uncommon, at least in TV movies), I should really be there by your side—me and not your sister, who’s a bitch and never liked me. Well I can finally tell you now, I’ve never liked her either. In fact there are a lot of things I can tell you now, that is once our so-called “break” is over and we make a fresh start: I never liked that salmon-colored shirt that you wear all the time, I never liked how you pontificate when someone asks your opinion about government coverups, or the way you clear your throat before you say something you think is important, like you did before the “we both need a break” speech. Though I think you’re probably dying to get back together by now, or will be once your amnesia lifts, I can’t remember why I agreed that we were soulmates. Still, I’d love to have you back so I can be the one to tell you that it’s not you, it’s me and that I think we both need a break.
