Night

"I fell in love with someone else."

"ok"

"I don't think I was ever in love with you."

"ok".

"Are you ok?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, are you ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? I was so sure I was going to be the one to leave, to stray, but it's you. I'm actually proud of myself. I loved you as best as I could. I didn't do anything wrong. I was good."

"Yes, you didn't do anything wrong. You're good." 

"I know. Listen, I'm fine. All I want is for you to be deliriously happy, and if that's not with me, it's ok. I love you, and that isn't contingent on you loving me back or anything, it's just a fact. I only want the best for you. I've gotta go, it's late."

 

This is the way things end. Not with name calling or yelling. It's afterwards when you look for evidence. It's only when it's very quiet that you wonder, "Did he ever love me?" It's where you tell yourself, yes, yes of course he did. But there is always that doubt. That aching says, "He never loved you, he never could." And so you look for birthday cards, note cards from flowers he sent you. You study pictures with a magnifying glass. You look at your faces, yes, you are both happy, you were both in love. You sift through handwritten notes, text messages, you listen to voicemail messages. Obsessively looking for evidence that what happened was real, authentic, that it meant something. 

And then text messages get deleted, voicemails are erased. Birthday cards  and notes are discarded. Pictures are put away, out of sight. You move on, you live your little life and forget about anything involving an "us." You don't wonder what he's doing or what he's thinking, he becomes a pleasant memory. You reason things out, you reassure yourself that everything is better now, because for all practical reasons you are better off without him. You go even further, you begin to doubt if you had ever, in fact, been in love with him. You admit, that when everything was settled, those weeks following the break up, what you felt wasn't anguish or regret, what you felt was: relief. 

Sometimes, when it's been an especially rough week. When everything that could go wrong does, when you feel low, impotent, worthless. When the harshness of reality pushes you down and holds you there, helpless and pathetic, you wish, silently, that there was someone who knew you. And then you remember that you did, in a way, have someone love you. And you look at an email he wrote to you when you both thought you loved each other.

L,

I miss you so much baby. So much! I miss just being with your perfect little self. I miss your infectious laugh. I miss your pussy. I miss the taste of your asshole. I miss everything about you and us. I can't wait to reconnect with you in Shanghai, probably early tomorrow morning for you. I still dont know for sure, but I'm hoping. God, I love you so much and I would give anything to be with you right now. love u love u love u, - Anthony