They broke up with you last night. You kind of saw it coming, in the back of your mind, a distance. Something out of place. You try and pass it off as an artificial thought. The back of you’re mind is just being paranoid, it’s nothing, relax and enjoy the night. But when you’re sitting alone together later, you know it’s coming. All signs point to it. And when they start talking, there’s no turning back back. You’re going in a direction that you don’t hen to go, but you can’t stop and say “sorry, I’m going to transfer to another train going in the opposite direction… It’s much more fun over there..” You felt it coming, but it’s still a shock.
They have a reason, it’s for the better, they still want to be friends. You accept the cards you’re dealt, because that’s all you can bloody do. You hope it won’t hurt to be friends, because you have half of your classes together. They leave with an awkward “goodnight” and you wish nothing more than to be going home with them and falling asleep with each other. You drive home. You have a song for these occasions, and you play it on repeat as you drive. Four times you listen to it, windows partway down, heat blasting, singing to it at the top of your lungs. Your voice faulting every now and then, either because of the shock of what just happened, or the tears in your throat. You sit in your parked car, finishing the end of the song, because you don’t want to stop it prematurely, then get out of the car.
You start to realize the amount of anger, frustration, and sadness in you, and decide that now’s a fine time than any to try punching a wall. You don’t have the courage to put all your force into it the first time, but play bloody knuckles with it for four or five punches. It doesn’t really help, it just makes your knuckles sore. Maybe you’re doing it wrong. You crawl into bed, and stare at Facebook, wishing it would sense the pain in your chest and change your status for you. Why does it hurt? They didn’t punch me.
You wake up wondering “am I fine? Has it passed? Can I move on?” You turn on your laptop, ignoring your phone for now. Decide that it’s worth opening Facebook. Maybe their profile. They’re single now too. It’s set in stone. Finally a tear comes down your face, but you don’t want to acknowledge it. You open thought catalogue, because you know that people on there have been through this many times. Nothing seems to be helping.
You turn your phone on, maybe they texted you, maybe they take it back, they acted on a whim, didn’t think it through, missing you too. Ten or so texts come in, one after another. All friends who saw Facebook, and offer to hang out and distract you from it, because that makes it easier. That’s how we can stumble forward. But that’s also when it hits you. You’re not going to get back together. It really did happen.
Tears and snot start streaming down you’re face, as though your body is trying to clean itself by throwing out everything that’s hurting you. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, because it’s been so long since you’ve cried this much. You’re glad you’re in your dark room, so no one else can see you like this, holding on to your blankets and pillows as though they’ll keep you grounded. The sheets only make you wish they could replace them, and you could be with them, all of your skin touching, closer than you’ve ever been to anyone. Why’d you have to open up?
As you slowly coax yourself out of bed, you realize that no matter what either of you go through, they were worth it.