"You don't taste like anything."
"What? What the hell does that have to do with anything?" I'm gesturing wildly, really that's the only way to describe what I am doing. Arms flailing, hands twitching. She's trying to break up with me again. This happens every couple of months- sometimes we can make it longer. "Taste has nothing to do with me not understanding you, which is what you said this was all about." She did this every time too. Her complaints and reasons for those complaints would shift throughout the discussion until she was just spouting random, unrelated, self-perceived facts.
"No, this conversation is about why I don't want to be with you."
"So, because you don't think I taste like anything, you're trying to leave me?"
"I'm not trying. I am going to leave."
"That's bullshit. You don't make any sense. I mean, do you hear yourself?"
"I'm leaving because of what you not tasting like anything represents to me."
"Represents, eh? This isn't a book. This is our life. But go on, what does it represent in your mind?" She sighed and looked worn-down. I half expected her to disintegrate on the spot.
"Your lack of passion for one."
"Oh, so this is about sex? I told you I would do whatever you wanted. If you want to do a girl together we can..."
"What? No, I don't want to do another girl with you."
"Well then what is it you want? Am I boring you?"
"Yes, you are boring me, but not in bed."
"Well hey, that can be fixed. What kind of things do you want us to do?" This is where the tide always turns. She would start talking more, really opening up. And I'd reassure her- that I loved her, that she was beautiful, that I wasn't going anywhere and that things would get better.
"No, it can't be fixed. You're not what I want and you never will be." And she left. She left her clothes, her toothbrush, her tupperware. She left.