“I suppose you know what happens next. I lie and tell you I’m busy this weekend in hopes of not looking desperate.”

“That’s right. What day should I plan on being busy myself?”

“All of them. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Nor I you. I hope I’m forgotten. And I hope we part ways permanently.”

“Come to think of it—I forgot what life was like outside of this moment. How did we meet?”

“We’re standing in line at a coffee shop.”

“That’s dreadful. I think I only came in here because I saw you from outside.”

“And I only spoke to you because your presence woke me up from an unbearable world of discomfort.”

"I don’t understand good things.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I would never ask you to. But I feel as though you’re the first person that I ever met.”

“Maybe the universe was created last Thursday—just for us to meet each other.”

“Then I hope it ends tomorrow, after I walk out of here without another word.”

“You might.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“But you might.”

“You make me want to burst into flames at the bottom of Mariana’s Trench.”

“That’s a shame. I thought the weight of this conversation would at least take you to the center of the earth.”

“I wasn’t finished.”

“I hadn’t started.”

“I don’t ever want to know about anything else.”

“You will. And I won’t be there when you can’t start a fire in the middle of winter.”

“Then I’ll move south.”

“You might.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“But you might.”

They moved south together, and nobody ever saw them again.