Phone was our sole means of communication, and I left a reasonable two messages over the course of a week.He didn't have my e-mail address, although I knew his. I entered the country of wild internal speculation, a dangerous land filled with demons and a terrifying creativity I can't seem to find in any other realm in my life.I took the envelope upstairs and sat down with a sigh to read what was surely a Dear Jane letter, belated, but now here, unopened in my hands.Instead, it was a plea for contact, desperate and hopeful.I decided that what dating needed was an exit interview.No matter how awkward, an ex-couple could sit down and get answers to the pressing question: What happened? Or that I had finally given up on the losing battle to pick up the tab every now and again?“Those things are part of the process, just as much as how accessible they are,” she said.
Then I arrived home late one night to find an oversize envelope tucked into the edge of the bank of buzzers in the lobby of my apartment, my name written neatly in block letters.The Red Sox had just lost Game 2 in their playoff with the Yankees.He was from Boston and I always root for the underdog, and we mourned the continuation of the Curse."Unless those were just excuses." “The absence of time to be together cuts directly into the capacity to grow intimate,” said Quinn.
Even if two lovers are neighbors, “there’s so little time to make a real relationship,” he added.
“It’s nice to have a metric,” Quinn agreed, laughing.