He wanted to have long conversations with her. Whirlwinds of words unleashed over coffee. Idle poems sprinkled over the evening walks. Fierce arguments about the future of cinema after the screening of the latest Jarmusch. Funny thing is that one can’t find everything they desire in one person. So every choice for a life partner is basically a compromise. Or at least to the intelligent individuals. But he could have used those conversations as an inspiration bank. That way he could’ve pulled out a slice of her, every once in a while after they had parted ways. She was too precious, too cerebral, to be wasted on monosyllabic utterances that she employed on him. Or the non-existent ones. All he wanted to do was talk to her. Talk. A lot of it. Damn! Why did he care so much?