move it along

Love turned out to be not a drama, but something like a prolonged lease with a neighbour who has no intention of moving out. At first, it seems fun, but then you start to notice that they are noisy, take up space, and make it difficult to breathe. And then you want to wave your hand and say, ‘Thank you, that's enough, the door is over there.’

Instead of tears, there's a checklist of refusals and a sense of relief when the space is finally freed up. A little anger, a little irony, and not a drop of regret. A dance rhythm that sounds like a sign on a fence: ‘No further passage. Move it along.’