She called and said she was eating cold pasta. She said she always thought of me when she was eating cold pasta. I stopped spinning my penne on my fork, and started wishing I could tell her exactly what I was thinking. But mostly I just wished that I hadn’t been eating cold pasta.

The truth is that I was thinking we must miss each other. But I could never trust her again, and she could never understand me. So we went on living without each other, a little worse off.

Or Maybe A Little Bit Better.