her: You know, I"m definitely liking you a lot more now.

him: You liked me less? When?

her: Well, in the beginning mostly, but there was a period a couple of months ago where I think that if I didn’t love you so much, I would have hated you.

him: But you never said anything.

her: I know. I figured it would pass.

him: Has it?

her: Sure. Didn’t I just say as much?

him: But what did I do wrong?

her: Who says you did anything wrong?

him: I must have. Otherwise why would you get angry with me?

her: Who said anything about being angry? I just said I didn’t like you much.

him: I’m confused. Something must have happened to make you not like me.

her: Yeah, I guess so, but why does that something have to be about you? Seriously, sometimes, cliched as it may be, it’s not a bit about you; it’s all about me.

him: But...

her: What?

him: I don't know. I mean, it has to be a little bit about me, I think.

her: I guess. Yeah. But not always. Like, with you, it's not always about me right? It's only about you sometimes. Take the other night for instance.

him: The other night?

her: Sure. You did your thing, I wasn't even close. But we were done. Don't tell me you gave me any thought because that'd be a lie.

him: Well--

her: Oh come on! It's okay. Really. We all do it.

him: Yeah, okay. Fine. You're right, but that doesn't really explain everything.

her: It doesn't? What's left?

him: If you can grow to dislike me independently of anything I do or don't do, then couldn't you, let's say, stop loving me for no reason at all?

her: Yes.

him: But--

her: Hmm?

him: That's fucked up!

her: Yeah, but love is fucked up. You know that. Everyone knows that. Don't make me pull the 'it's a risk you take' bullshit.

him: No, no. I know that. It's just, I guess I never really thought about it much before.

her: You don't have to think about it now. Somethings don't change no matter how much thinking you do about them.

him: Right. Okay. Well then.

her: So, like I said, I like you a lot better now.

him: Thanks.