When you texted me that it was over, I was having dinner at Juan’s Flying Burrito with Brian and Anna.
I read what you wrote and then I looked at my phone like it was trying to hurt me.
Anna asked if everything was okay.
I turned to her and said simply, “No.”
Behind me, someone laughed and I imagined smashing one of those large glass margarita goblets against his head.
The food arrived. I ate, but with every bite I grew more anxious to throw up when I returned home.
Brian and Anna assured me that I was misinterpreting the message. “He says he just wants time to sort things out. He’s not ending the relationship.”
I knew better.
Because I know you.
And it’s exactly what you would say — so you didn’t have to tell me the truth.
I wish I could remember the last thing I said to you.
But after you told me, “I just need some time,” everything went black.
At some point in the night, I deleted the text thread and erased your number.
I’m sure I responded, because I always need to have the last word.
But it doesn’t matter.
I lost anyway.
I feel embarrassed wasting my words on you.
But I can’t stop myself.
The worst part is that, I can’t stop giving to you — handing over huge chunks of my time and my most vulnerable emotions.
Watch me stumble away.
A disfigured corpse of someone who used to look just like me.