The haze of the mundane slowly settles in as two individuals spend evening after evening and night after night in each other’s company, without incident and without respite. As the heat from the television set across the living room floor has charred the wallpaper and the springs on the his and hers armchairs have molded to match their respective owners’ physicality, so too have the two individuals marked, dented and diluted each other. The distinctiveness of each individual dissipates until slowly their skin matches the upholstery, which matches the wall, and their verbal and facial expressions mirror each other. The question of love has faded, replaced by a more comfortable knowledge and acceptance. There is little protest; only happy resignation in the knowledge that these two, they’re two of a kind.

For those who think this doesn’t apply, a point must be made: it wasn’t always this way…