The Wind-down Love Chronicle


And so I finally did it. I found the words, the right words. I didn’t lose my head, didn’t get angry. I did not swear or raise my voice. I even managed to not burst into a puddle of tears on the floor while I spoke.

“We are not the same page anymore,” I said.

You were stoic. Steady. Composed. Calm. What I loved and loathed equally about you.

“I will leave you alone. I will let you be. You will have no more cause for unhappiness with me,” I said.


“Are you going to say anything?”


“Then I should go,” I said.

Silence. Even your breathing is inaudible.

And so it went. I said this and many other things. How I felt, what I thought, the things I had mentally masticated on and the conclusions I had arrived at. To everyone, this was the usual end-of-romance script. To me it was a death sentence.

I always thought we would end the way we began – with an explosion. But what started with a bang, ended with a whimper. My whimper.

The afternoon turned to evening. The evening fell into the dark. The dark went quiet, just like you. The phone did not buzz or beep. Not once. My body was turning cold from the outside in. You had begun to bury me already.

I don’t know if you’re reading my words anymore. I don’t know if you are reading me at all. I think maybe you are but you don’t want to let me know. From the little I can see, you’re doing okay, and I am grateful. Of course you’re fine. I knew you’d be fine. You’re made of steel. I have thrown myself against you and come away with bruises on the inside enough times to know.

But the dead silence. The fucking unreadable silence.

I want to know: how do people not look back? HOW CAN YOU NOT LOOK BACK ONCE?

Not once?

You didn’t call today either.

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