How am I Supposed to...

How am I supposed to get over a man who writes me things like this?  (Sent to me just last night, btw)...

“Kat, I cannot bear this silence. I do not thrive in it and I fight to understand it.  It has eaten me alive.  I want to be your friend but I do not know if I can separate the lover in me.  I want to sit across a dinner table but I would probably find that the plates get in the way of stroking your hand; I want to go to a movie, but your smell would probably make me dizzy.  I want to be your friend nevertheless.

           I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
          To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
          To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
          And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.”
                  (Pablo Neruda)

That, my friends, is The Argentine.