You brought me here tonight. I thought you were so romantic. We watched the fireworks together, holding hands. Then we watched the funfair; all those people, having fun, laughing, screaming. But something was wrong. I could tell: it was the way you couldn't look at me, but just kept staring into the lights.
"What is it?" I said. "What's wrong?"
"You know, don't you?" you replied at last.
"Um… are those lights giving you a headache? Do you wanna go home and –"
"No," you said. "No, I don't. Look, it's – it's not working. This whole thing. You and me. It's not working out for me."