We broke up in 2011 on a Sunday in mid-January. Thank you for being polite until after my birthday, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. We hadn’t seen one another the previous night – I had worked late, so was all puppy-dog tails to see you. When I arrived I was greet by your friend unceremoniously handing me my things. I was numb and needed to understand, so putting my belongings down took out my phone. Unfortunately, all I received was a generic text stating the official dissolution.
I should have predicted the break-up because of the distance for three and a quarter months. I persisted by being better at playing house as a new year’s resolution, but it was all too little, too late, and now suspiciously out of character. Your apprehensive glances telegraphed the to end our relationship.
I covered up my exuberance, believing that a demeanor of cold detachment decision making would be impressive, because in my fantasy of you I saw strong and decisive; weighed down by another’s gushing emotion; a man that saw devotion as a flaw. Instead I became frigid and distracted with constant repair on my ice-walls. I never learned to thaw for those I care about.