After watching romance movies and reading too much fan fiction, I thought I had gotten the breaking-up process to a T. I ended up compiling a bunch of these cliche lines and turning my different interpretations of the line into a story of a toxic relationship because anyone that has to use any of these lines is probably not the one.
One, “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now.”
Maybe it was my reserved expression and the hair covering the side of my face or maybe it was my switching stares from the chair across from me to the people outside that made it seem like I was waiting for someone; whatever it was, it made people reluctant to walk up to me to ask for the extra seat. You ignored all the warning signs and strode right up to me; you rocked on your heels forward and back, forward and back. You sat in front of me.
You said, “you know what bothers me?” Silence. “That it’s been two days, and my legs are still used to walking to my ex-girlfriend’s for lunch, like, how do they even know how to do that?”
Oh, you’re still here, and you asked me a question and you look like you’re expecting an answer.
“I think it’s your brain, not your legs.”
You nod and say, “I hope you’re not expecting me to ask for your number, you know, since I’m sitting here. I’m just not looking for a relationship right now.”
In two weeks, we were officially dating.
Two, “We’re just not meant to be.”
Remember when I had that really important job interview? The one I bought a new blazer for?
10 minutes away: inhale, exhale.
7 minutes. I can do this.
6 minutes. I get a text.
4 minutes. My phone is ringing; it’s you.
3 minutes. I answer and am greeted with children’s laughter.
2 minutes. You yell for help, because you’re babysitting your little brothers, and you don’t know what to do, and the house is a mess, and neither of your brothers has showered yet, and the dog hasn’t been fed,
and 1 minute. I rock on my heels – forward and back, forward and back.
0 minutes. I turn around and briskly walk to your house. Maybe it’s just not meant to be.
Three, “We’re better off as friends.”
You surprised me at my apartment; you said you wanted to cook for me. It took you two hours, and you almost gave up twice.
I don’t remember how the food tasted, but I do remember how proud you were of yourself that you didn’t let me put the dishes in the washer, and I believed that they were better off in the sink for I enjoyed the moments we shared thereafter.
It turns out we were both wrong, because I woke up to ants and an empty bed, but mostly ants.
Four, “You’ll find someone better.”
The last time you told me that I had just dropped my phone and cracked the screen; you told me I’d find a better phone. I wouldn’t be able to salvage the photos; you told me I’d make better memories. I didn’t have a list of all the contacts I had in it; you told me I’d meet better people.
I ended up with my mom’s old scratched up phone with the scratched up camera lens. I didn’t bring it out in front of others, and I wrote numbers on my arm instead, but they were always too faded to read at the end of the day. So, what were you saying about finding better things again?
Five, “It’s not working out.”
That’s what you say about a diet regimen or a microwave that breaks too often, but I guess you’re right. You have a knack for making me feel bad about myself, and that’s just about the only thing working.
Six, “I just don’t feel anything anymore.”
Implying that you did feel something at one point. Was it, at least, for me? If so, what did I do to make that feeling leave?
Seven, “I think we should see other people,” because you already are.
I’m right here, and she’s over there; you’re only ever here when she’s also here.
You’ve complained about people not knowing you well enough, and here I am, knowing you more than enough, have you just decided enough?
Eight, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
And rightfully so. You were the one who asked to sit at my table. You were the one who texted first. You were the one fumbling with words. You were the one who told me we would be okay. You were the one… who texted an apology for breaking up with me. So, don’t feel like you have to say that line out of pity, because trust me, from the bottom of my shoe, every part of me knows it is you.
And nine, my personal favorite: silence.
It was one of my moods that had put you off. Most recently, it was my mood for writing. Inspiration had struck, which isn’t as often as I would like, but it was one of those rare moments, and I needed to take advantage of it.
However, I didn’t know that when I started writing about our relationship, I was writing a eulogy.