So are we girlfriends then?

You cannot move away. Not now that technically there is a place for you as my physicist-wife. We could be annoyingly nerdy. We could have spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen to songs we're both too young to know. We could throw all our tableware against walls when it gets too unbearable to be at each other's mercy. I could wake you in the dead of night, because early mornings are my thing, and you could hold my hands through the caffeine shock, while I try to join you for a long night. We could be unconventional together. We could think up sweet escape scenarios and arrive at the decision of staying time and again. I could paint a house for you and the colours of a sunrise and we would never move in, but camp in the backyard. We could take ballroom dance classes to embarass your parents on your sister's wedding. We could write endless to-do-lists and then spend the day in bed, because nothing could be more important than that. We could be good together. Really good.

There's just this one thing:
We can't.
You're hung up on that knight of yours and I don't want to get over my ex-girlfriend. So much so, that it makes me nauseous to think the word: Ex-girlfriend.

But let me tell you one thing: There's a really good chance they won't come back. And this thing we're doing right now? That's pathetic. So, you know, once I get over the denial and the anger and the bargaining and the depression... once I get there, I will wake up to see you've been that tad bit quicker. And I will regret it.