He’s impossible to communicate with. He’s smug, arrogant, and he doesn’t know when to be serious, and yet, in spite of everything, she continues to try. Their relationship is a cycle – dismantle, repair, and destroy; lather, rinse, and repeat. It’s a mutual case of alexithymia, and the diagnosis is always terminal.

Their relationship is a paper-thin hymn, a desperate plea for help and forgiveness. It’s a failure, a catastrophe, all of the plagues rolled into one. And they readily fuel their own fire, and then throw glass into the arson so that it stings that much more. He’s her feel-good drag, her cyanide and nicotine. They’re an unwinding cable car, creating sparks and noise and frenzy.

They’re a disaster in the making.