He became tired of our life together. Not me.

He was tired of our life together. I wasn’t.

He had grown tired of our life together. I hadn’t.

He got tired of our life together. I didn’t.

He had gotten tired of us living together. I hadn’t.

He tired of our living together. I didn’t.

He was getting tired of living together. I wasn’t.

He became tired of our life together. I did not.

He’d grown weary of sharing a life together. I hadn’t.

That was the whole thing.

That’s the long and the short of it

And that was the size of it.

That’s the long and short of it.

Here’s the whole tale.

There’s the whole truth.

That pretty well sums it up.

Here is my wisdom on the matter.

That’s what it boiled down to.

One morning when we woke up, he was like a stranger.

One morning a stranger woke up in my bed.

One morning a stranger woke up on my pillow.

One morning, a stranger woke up in my bed.

One morning a stranger woke up in my bed.

One morning a stranger awoke on my pillow.

One morning a stranger woke up on my pillow.

One morning a foreigner awoke on my pillow.

One morning, there was a stranger in my bed.

His kiss didn’t move me.

His kiss barely brushed my skin.

His kiss only grazed the surface of my skin.

His kiss only went as deep as the thinnest layer of my skin.

His kiss was nothing more than a habit.

His kiss only penetrated through the thinnest layer of my skin.

His kiss barely got into the thinnest layer of my skin.

His kiss reached only through the thin barrier of my skin.

When he kissed me, it was just lips, pressing against my skin.

His mind was somewhere else.

And then he was gone.

He had blipped out.

He started to become absent.

He had disappeared.

He started fading away.

He just ceased to be there.

He started to be absent.

He had suddenly hollowed out.

It started to happen often.

That’s how he started to disappear at first.

That’s how he began to disappear.

At first he started to fade like that.

At first he would check-out like that.

At first, he began to disappear just like that.

First he started to disappear like that.

First he was absent mentally,

This was how he began to fade away, at first.

Later he was physically absent, too.

Afterwards, he’d also be away physically.

And after that he will physically disappear too.

Later he would also physically disappear.

Then he really left.

Later, he’ll leave physically, too.

Later he would also physically go away.

then physically.

His body followed later.

When I came home,

I usually came straight home in the evenings.

I made my way home.

I used to come home.

I liked coming home.

I felt like going home.

I got used to coming home

I felt like going home.

I wanted to go home.

I would put the key in the lock and I already know the house would be empty.

Putting the key into the lock, I already knew that I would find the house empty.

As soon as I put the key into the lock I knew that the door would open to an empty house.

After simply putting the key in the lock, I already knew I’d find the house empty.

Yet as I put the key in the lock, I knew the house would be empty.

At the slide of my key into the lock, I already knew that I would find the house empty.

knowing from the moment I stuck the key in the lock that I would find an empty house.

The moment I put the key in lock, I already knew that the house would be empty.

The moment I slid the key into the lock, I knew I’d be walking into an empty house.

He often went out to wander.

Lately he tended to wander off somewhere.

Recently he had taken to wandering around.

Near the end, he started to wander off somewhere.

Recently, he preferred to go elsewhere.

He was a wanderer to the last.

Lately he had taken to wandering.

Recently he felt restless and sometimes wandered off.

He had recently started wandering, I have no idea where.

Even when he was present, he wasn’t really present.

And even when he was home, he wasn’t.

And even when he was there he wasn’t really there.

And even when he was there, he really wasn’t.

Even when he was there, he wasn’t.

And even when he was here, he wasn’t.

And even when he was there, he wasn’t really there.

And even when he was there, he wasn’t.

Even when he was present, he wasn’t really.

To lighten the evening, I tried to amuse myself, thinking how I would describe the situation in Esperanto.

Then the voice in my head, to bring some cheer to the evening, started in with:

Then the voice launched into its assessment to lighten the mood of the evening:

One time, the voice, to liven up the evening, came up with the following diagnosis:

Then a voice, to lighten the evening, made this diagnosis:

Then my voice, to liven up the evening, threw out that diagnosis:

Then a little voice would offer a diagnosis to cheer up the evening:

Then the voice, to enliven the evening, made this diagnosis:

My voice, attempting to lighten the mood, threw out a conclusion:

“He started to not be present,” “Malĉeestis.” I mouthed the Esperanto word.

“He’s begun to be gone! Begun to be gone!

“He blipped out! Blipped out!

– He’s starting to disappear! Evanesce!

– He disappeared! Disappeeared!

“He’s fading away! Fading!

“He’s disappeared! Disappeared!

–He’s detached! Like a costume mustache!

“Dematerialized! He’s just . . . dematerialized!

How beautiful, like a word in Aztec!

What a lovely rhythm, like a train leaving the station!”

What a lovely phrase. Almost like something a parrot would say.”

Oh, what a nice word! Almost French!

What a beautiful word. Almost Aztec-like

What a beautiful word! Almost Aztec!”

What a fine word–as if it were Aztec or something!”

I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.

What a beautiful word, a nice Latin word!”

I had to smile at my wordplay.

I had to smile at the efforts of my little inner voice…

I have to smile at my inner voice’s efforts.

– I had to smile at my voice’s attempts.

– I had to giggle at the effort of my inner voice.

I had to smile at the effort of my little voice.

I had to smile at my little voice’s efforts.

– I had to smile at the effort of my little voice.

I had to laugh at my little voice,

It was an attempt to lighten my spirit,

it was like a pat on the head.

It was almost like a caress.

That was almost a stab at affection.

It was trying to give me a hug.

Like an attempt at a caress.

It was like an attempt to soothe myself.

I almost comforted myself.

trying it’s best to comfort me.

but it didn’t last.

But its wit didn’t last long.

But its existence was short-lived.

But the levity didn’t last long.

But the humor didn’t last long.

But its liveliness didn’t last long.

But the cleverness didn’t last long–

Its liveliness didn’t last long.

But the novelty soon wore off.

The sadness came back.

The sadness always managed to seep in again.

The sadness was able to reinsert itself.

Sadness was able to reinvade me.

The sadness was just too great.

The sadness could still invade.

sadness was ready to take over again.

The sadness could invade once more.

My sorrow successfully counterattacked.

Did it seem to him that everything was already finished?

Did it seem to him that everything was said and done?

Did he think everything had happened already?

Did he feel like everything had already happened?

Did he feel that nothing new could happen?

Did it seem to him that everything had already happened?

Was it all over with in his mind?

Did it seem like we had already done everything?

Did he think everything was played out?

Did it bother him that I knew too much about him?

Was he annoyed that I knew him too well?

Did it bother him that I knew too much about him?

Does it bother him that I know him too well?

Was he bothered that I knew so much about him?

Does it bother him that I know too much about him?

Did it bother him that I knew too much about him?

Did it bother him that I knew too much about him?

Does he feel like I know too much about him?

I knew his jokes better than he did, to the point that I could help him when he was asked to tell a story.

I knew his collection of jokes better than he did; at times I could remind him, when it was his turn to tell a story.

I knew all of his jokes better than he did and sometimes I had to prompt him when it was his turn to tell one.

I knew his repertoire of jokes better than he, and was sometimes even able to remind him when it was his turn to interject.

I knew the punchlines of his jokes better than he did and occasionally reminded him in the middle of him telling a story.

I knew better than he the repertoire of his jokes and could occasionally remind him, when it was his turn to tell them.

I knew his jokes better than he did and could jog his memory when it was his turn to talk.

I knew his repertoire of jokes better than he did, and could remind him of which one to tell during conversation.

I knew his collection of jokes even better than he did, and sometimes I’d remind him when he should tell one.

Was that a sign that we were falling apart?

Is that a sign that things are breaking down?

Is that a sign that his mind was slipping away?

Is that a sign of impending ruin?

Is that a sign that we were growing apart?

Was that a sign of the end?

Is that a sign of impending breakup?

Was this a sign of dissolution?

Was that a sign that things were falling apart?

One time we talked about first loves.

Sometimes we talked about our first loves.

Sometimes we would talk about first loves.

Once we were talking about our first loves.

We occasionally discussed first loves.

One time we spoke about first loves.

One time we talked about our first loves.

Sometimes we spoke about first loves.

Once time we were talking about first loves

I had to correct him, “No, you missed the Japanese one.”

I had to correct him: “excuse me, you skipped the Japanese girl.”

I would have to correct him: “Sorry, but you skipped over the Japanese woman.”

I had to correct him: excuse me, you forgot about the Japanese girl.

I had to correct him: What about the Japanese girl?

I had to correct him: excuse me, you skipped over the Japanese woman.

I had to correct him: “Wait a minute, you skipped the Japanese girl.”

I must correct him: excuse me, you skipped the Japanese woman

and I had to correct him: “Wait a second, you skipped over the Japanese girl.”

“The Japanese one?” “Yeah, back when you were a soldier.”

“What Japanese girl?” “The one when you were a soldier!”

“What Japanese woman?” “The one when you were a soldier.”

– Which Japanese girl? – When you were a soldier!

– What Japanese girl? – While you were a soldier.

“Which Japanese woman?” From when you were a soldier!

“What Japanese girl?” “The one when you were in the Army!”

–which Japanese woman? –That one when you were a soldier!

“What Japanese girl?” “From when you were in the army!”

“Yes, you’re right.

“Oh yes, you’re right.

“Oh yeah, you’re right.

– Oh, you’re right.

– Damn, you’re right.

“Of course, you’re right.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right.

–Oh, of course.

“Oh, yeah.

You know everything. Soon I’ll be asking you for the name of my great-grandmother’s dog!”

Next I’ll have to ask you the name of my great grandmother’s dog!”

Soon I’m going to have to ask you what my great-grandfather’s dog’s name was.”

Maybe I should ask you the name of my great-grandmother’s dog.

Soon I’ll have to ask you the name of my great-grandmother’s dog.

Soon I’ll be asking you the name of my great-grandmother’s dog.”

Next I’ll have to ask you the name of my great-grandmother’s dog!”

And what was the name of my great-grandmother’s dog?

Pretty soon, I’m gonna have to ask you great-grandma’s dog’s name.”

We laughed. At the moment, it was fun. Later it hurt.

We laughed. At the time it seemed clever. Only later did it hurt.

We laughed. At the time it seemed clever. It only hurt later.

We laughed. That seemed funny, then. It only hurt later.

We laughed. It was funny at the time. But later it hurt.

We laughed. At that time, everything seemed bright. Only later did it hurt.

We laughed. At the moment it seemed witty, only later it hurt.

We laughed. In that moment it seemed witty. Only afterwards did it hurt.

Laughter. At the time, it felt clever. The pain came later.

Why was I able to hold out longer than him?

Why was I more inclined to hold on than he was?

Why was I more resilient than he was?

Why am I able to tolerate things better than he?

How was I more willing to stick it out than he?

How was I able to withstand more than him?

Why was I more tolerant than he was?

Why do I want to hold on longer than him?

Why did I hang on longer than him?

Was it because I had years of solitude before our relationship, time when I developed endless patience?

Was it because our relationship was, for me, preceded by years of solitude during which I had acquired an inexhaustible patience for living with someone else?

Was it because our time together was preceded by years of loneliness during which I accumulated a limitless patience for companionship?

Is it because our relationship came after years of solitude during which I was able to accumulate a never-ending supply of patience for living with someone?

Was it because our relationship was preceded by years of solitude during which I accumulated an inexhaustable patience for living together?

Is it because our relationship was preceded by years of solitude, during which I accumulated inexhaustible patience for living together?

Maybe because in the lonely years before we met I had built up an inexhaustible patience for living together?

Is it because our relationship came after years of solitude when I cultivated an inexhaustible patience for living with someone?

Maybe I’d acquired a limitless reserve of patience for living together during the years of solitude before we were together. Could that be it?