[ WP ] Write a story about two soul mates breaking up

When I see my neighbors in the hall, I think to myself, `` I know what your sex sounds like.'' 
 
 The guy -- he is a grunter. Finishes loud and long, reminiscent of a man preparing to and then lifting a great weight above his head. The woman... well, the woman is a little more particular. You can tell she requires an immense amount of specialized treatment. I will hear them in the thick of it, as it were, and then all of a sudden the sound of furniture being rearranged. Or another time, they in situ of course, when they stopped and it sounded exactly as if they were running back and forth, sprinting really, the length of their living room. Her vocalizations come in short, crescendoing burst. Yet they repeat, 2 or three times, in identical length and intensity ( they have been recorded. The sample size is conclusive ). Does she have multiple orgasms? Or do these wailings signify something more complex? Coded instructions perhaps. 
 
 It is possible that I am being unfair to the woman. These machinations might be the requirements of the male. But my roommate in college was a grunter ( with an even greater decibel achievement if it can be believed ) and they tend to be men of simple needs and desires. 
 
 But they must have been in love. They fucked at all hours. 4am on a Tuesday, 2pm on a Sunday. I'm coming home from work and they are running down the hall to their door, he already pulling his shirt above his head as she unlocked the door. 
 
 This went on for 2 years. They improved the porch: wooden furniture, a box garden with basil and lavender, a citronella candle. I would be on my own bare porch, chain smoking and she would come out with the zinc watering can, a look of dismay on her face, he would come out a moment later with a beer, run his hand along the length of her back, chuck her under the chin a couple times and split a cigarette with me. 
 `` She drives me fuckin crazy'', he'd say, smiling wide and gulping his beer. She'd look over, hair in her face, and smile in a way that made a man take stock of his life. 
 
 And then it stopped. For a whole month, I never heard a sound. Not even a fight. The plants on the porch died. The wooden furniture was gone one day. 
 
 I only heard them once more. It was early evening, and the sounds had a raw and unkind edge to it, like people in a panic, like a plan unraveling. That was the last time. 

