This one ended the way so many of my relationships have: abruptly, without warning, leaving a surreal haze of confusion and an impulse to frantically look backwards for clues in subsequent days. I become an archeologist of texts, moments, ignored signs: when he leaned over to the other side of the seat at the movie theatre? When he insisted on paying for what turned out to be our final drink: something that men have often done right before they leave me as a final act of charity? I become more machine than human, nit-picking every word and scrutinizing every ex-girlfriend and replaying every childhood story to make any sense of a three-month whirlwind that ends in familiar start: “I’ve been thinking about us, and…”
It’s Unfair and It Doesn’t Make Sense
It’s Unfair and It Doesn’t Make Sense
It’s Unfair and It Doesn’t Make Sense
This one ended the way so many of my relationships have: abruptly, without warning, leaving a surreal haze of confusion and an impulse to frantically look backwards for clues in subsequent days. I become an archeologist of texts, moments, ignored signs: when he leaned over to the other side of the seat at the movie theatre? When he insisted on paying for what turned out to be our final drink: something that men have often done right before they leave me as a final act of charity? I become more machine than human, nit-picking every word and scrutinizing every ex-girlfriend and replaying every childhood story to make any sense of a three-month whirlwind that ends in familiar start: “I’ve been thinking about us, and…”