“I’ll get either you or Greg to carry it up the three flights.”
“And what if I don’t want to carry it? What if I can’t carry it?”
“Then maybe you’re not who I thought you were.”
“Maybe I’m not who I thought I was either. I don’t think I can carry it.” He paused, caught on the cusp of wanting, needing, fearing. “I can’t do this…not anymore.”
“It’s just a television set. I’ll have Greg bring it up then.”
“I don’t think I can carry it.” His eyes grew distant and dreamy as he backed toward the open window. “I can’t do this…goodbye.”
When the monotony of a relationship becomes too much.