Rewrite this in the form of a short story. Put it in the first person, from the point of view of a woman, and make it more personal.

When she says margarita she means daiquiri.
When she says quixotic she means mercurial.
And when she says, "I'll never speak to you again,"
she means, "Put your arms around me from behind
as I stand disconsolate at the window."

He's supposed to know that.

When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia
or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading,
or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he is raking leaves in Ithaca
or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate
at the window overlooking the bay
where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on
while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

When a woman loves a man it is one ten in the morning
she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels
drinking lemonade
and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed
where she remains asleep and very warm.

When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks.
When she says, "We're talking about me now,"
he stops talking. Her best friend comes over and says,
"Did somebody die?"

When a woman loves a man, they have gone
to swim naked in the stream
on a glorious July day
with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle
of water rushing over smooth rocks,
and there is nothing alien in the universe.

Ripe apples fall about them.
What else can they do but eat?

When he says, "Ours is a transitional era,"
"that's very original of you," she replies,
dry as the martini he is sipping.

They fight all the time
It's fun
What do I owe you?
Let's start with an apology
Ok, I'm sorry, you dickhead.
A sign is held up saying "Laughter."
It's a silent picture.
"I've been fucked without a kiss," she says,
"and you can quote me on that,"
which sounds great in an English accent.

One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it another nine times.

When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the airport in a foreign country with a jeep.
When a man loves a woman he's there. He doesn't complain that she's two hours late
and there's nothing in the refrigerator.

When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake.
She's like a child crying
at nightfall because she didn't want the day to end.

When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking:
as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved.
A thousand fireflies wink at him.
The frogs sound like the string section
of the orchestra warming up.
The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.
I don’t think I’m too difficult to understand. When I say margarita, I mean daiquiri. When I say quixotic, I mean mercurial. And when I tell you to never speak to me again, all I really need is for you to hold me. I need your arms wound tight around me as I stand inconsolable by the window.

These are things he is supposed to know.

And it feels as though we’re in two different places. I, in Virginia, he in New York. I’m poring over through a novel in New York, and he’s writing with sore fingers in Boston. I’m wrapped in a sweater in Balboa Park, and he’s raking leaves in Ithaca. 

Or maybe, he is driving on the highway in East Hampton, and I am still here. Inconsolable by the window. I watch as technicolor sailboats cut through the water in the bay, and he’s stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

When I love a man the sun is high in the sky. Call it 10 AM. I am asleep in our bed, and he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels, and drinking lemonade. And in two hours, he will come upstairs to find me, warm in the sheets, and join me in my midday slumber.

When I tell him “tomorrow”, I really mean in a month and some change. When I tell him “We’re talking about me now,” he will stop and listen with a thick silence. My best friend will stop by and visit, and ask if someone has died.

When I love a man, I swam with him, naked in a stream in the heat of July. The waterfall floods the smooth rocks surrounding us, and for a minute, it seems that there is nothing in the world that I do not understand. From above, apples fall, ripe into the water, and he and I are left with no choice but to eat.

He tells me, “Ours is a transitional era.”

“That’s very original of you,” I respond, my words reminiscent of the martini on his tongue.

And we fight all the time. There’s a joy in it.

“What do I owe you?” I ask, lashes batting against my cheeks.

“Let’s start with an apology.”

“Ok. I’m sorry, you dickhead.”

A sign is held up to the audience that reads “Laughter”, but we don’t hear it. It’s a silent film.

I tell him, “I’ve been fucked without a kiss. You can quote me on that,” and I chuckle over how good those words would sound if I had an English accent.

One year, we break up seven times. And we threaten each other with another nine.

When I love a man, it means I want him to meet me at the airport in a foreign country with a jeep. But when a man loves me, he is just there. I am two hours late, and my refrigerator is empty, but he is still there, and he does not complain when he finally sees me. 

When I love a man, I want to stay awake when the night falls. I cry, like a child in his arms because I do not want this day to end.

And when a man loves me, he will watch me sleep, thinking that midnight to the moon is as sleep is to the beloved. The fireflies in our yard, all one thousand of them, will wink as they pass the window. The frogs in the night will sound like an orchestra warming up their strings. 

And the stars, so warm and bright they glow, will dangle like grape earrings from the stillness of the sky.