I am mr Farenheint in Ornella’s love galaxy

So I knew this chick, Artella, and she liked me a lot, like a

lot, so well, it's nice to have her around, she makes me laugh
and is hot and everything, so now she is my girlfriend.
Yeah, I know, I sound more like an adaptive man than a
decision maker in the affairs of the heart. Actually I wish it
was like that; since I adapted myself to the girlfriend
situation, now the natural and adequate thing for me would
be to fall for the girl and that's it. 
Artella knows that I was a bit neutral about her, and about
everything in my life, she think that my color is gray, but if
Artella only knew. 
I meet Ornella once in a technology convention and she
dazzled me with her intelligent, funny and intellectual
conversation. I added her to Facebook and after many likes
here and there, we started dating. I wanted to know
desperately more about her, and soon I found out we had the
same passion: to discuss and read about the possible effects
of technology in our world. 
Soon, too, I started to picture us drinking coffee together and
then running to our respective jobs, sharing a life. I was
enamored of her, so all our common interests were
impregnated with this feeling. It was like if every cell, every
atom, every breath had our colors mixed together.
I got the girl, and the FOUR years we were together. It's
been a year now, since we broke up, because the spark died
(for her) and we left it as good friends.
Now I am eating at Artella's parents house. They probably
think I am a boring dude who doesn't care if its a rainy day
or a sunny day, they don't know me. 
I swallow the food, laughing when I have to laugh and
throwing controversial opinions here and there so I don't get
too bored. 
But in my mind there's a ticking clock. Ornella is in a plane,
coming back to our country, and the one we invented, with
technological and economical disaster, will become a reality.
We will be controlled by machines, drops of water will be
more precious than the shiniest diamond, air will be poison.
Artella will be gone by then, probably, but I will meet
Ornella in a bench in the park, on Sundays, to talk about the
weather, the tyranical boss and the newspaper, in one year
and 40 years later. I will have my favourite star at the reach
of my hand, and who knows, maybe Ornella will get
Hornyella.
I am eating at Artella's parents now, and I am a living corpse
but now that Ornella is coming in a plane, trust me, my
shadow coers all the space on the floor.