The Breakup: My Side

"I'm leaving." The words are said in your normal tone, as you sit down on the bed and begin to dress. What are you doing any ways? It's 8 am in the morning, for goodness sakes. And I woke up early without provocation in order to cuddle with you, just like you always said you wanted.

"What would you do if I broke up with you right now? Be bitter?" The words come from your lips like air bubbles, funny and light. But my heart begins to sink, reminded instantly of the awkwardness of the past day during which you refused to kiss me. "It's more fun this way," you'd said. And I had thought it was just fun, just something to get me wanting more, you sadistic bastard. It has worked like a charm, all I've wanted this last little while was to kiss you, to feel your "black man's lips" upon mine, scorching with fire and softening like ice cream.

For now, I will treat this lightly, but with an air of the raw aching hurt inside. "We-ell, I wouldn't hate you, if that's what you want to know. I bet you're checking to see what would happen when you do break up with me, aren't you?" I say it with a giggle, and then roll over to face the wall. You don't say anything in response, don’t come over to hug me, don’t even crack a smile.

You're fully dressed now, and standing by my bedroom door. "You said you were leaving, so why are you still standing there?" The hurt I'm really feeling is starting to come across in my face.

"Actually hun, there was something I wanted to say to you." I know what's coming; he's prepared me for it in the meanest way possible. "I haven't been happy and I'm not satisfied. Can we still be friends?" Everything goes numb, although my mind races as I shake my head in response. "I do still love you." Is he kidding me? When you love someone, you try to work it out instead of giving up, right?

"Shall I let you out then?" It's a good thing he never had a key to my flat. It is horrible and awkward as he fiddles with his boots for what seems like an eternity, as I wait to let the tears out. "One last hug?" He holds his arms out hopefully with his wounded puppy look as I shake my head vehemently. Who is he to play the victim in this any ways? "A handshake at least?" In response I ignore him and open the flat door.

As he walks out of my life I close and lock the literal door, while the figurative door on my love for him is left gaping open. I can only hope to one day be strong enough to push it ajar.