its too late M

It's too late.

There's nothing left in you that I can live with.

You're a humanoid.

If I stay with you, I'll be destroyed.

You're television incarnate : Indifferent to suffering; insensitive to joy.

All of life with you is reduced to the common rubble of banality. Love, feelings, sadness, death are all the same to you as bottles of beer. And the daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split seconds and instant replays. You're madness, M.
Virulent madness. And everything you touch dies with you.

But not me. Not as long as I can feel pleasure, and pain... and love.