I tried to get you out of my life, but you came back again. How long have I been without you? Fifty-four days? Yes. Fifty-four days.

Yesterday you came back of your own accord, expecting to resume our relationship where we left off. But no. It's all changed now, hasn't it? How can I ever look at you in the same way? How can I find the same comfort in your gentle glow and melodic voice? I've changed too. I learned to live without you, because I had to.

And yet there you are again, waiting oh-so-quietly in your familiar spot in the corner of my livingroom. I know you. You want me to pick up the remote. You want me to turn you on.

I know, I know, I used to watch you for hours. But I got over it. I don't need Buffy. I don't need Enterprise. I don't need the dozens of pointless sitcoms that flicker across your face. Now I'll watch those things only if I choose to do so. You have no more sway over me. If you want to sit there, fine. But know this: I'm beyond you.