She told me, a few weeks ago, that love was not enough. We could love each other, but if we didn’t make each other happy, love simply wasn’t enough. She was right. This breakup proves it.
A mistake she made in the past kept coming back, and stayed lurking around her, every day. Her career and her future were tainted by this fuck-up and there was nothing we could do about it. My only choice was to suck it up and let it go, but I couldn’t. I was going mad. Jealousy took the best of me, of us. I drove us both to the edge of the cliff and kept pushing and pushing. So we fell.
I got her first SMS exactly six months ago, on September 27th. We didn’t let go since. But just as intense as it was our relationship, it has been our downfall. The deeper we loved, the further we dug towards this hell that’s burning us down now.
It haven’t even been an hour since I saw her for the last time; since I cried on her chest, as she ran her fingers through my hair. And writing these lines kills me. Because I realize that, after every word I put down on this page, I’m a few instants further away from ever experiencing again all the things that our love was made of.
No more hours long breakfasts, talking non-stop. No more cuddling to sleep. No more staring into each other’s eyes with a silly smile of joy in our faces. No more of her warm skin against mine, and no more of our incessant fucking. No more evenings cooking and dining together. No more “Spotify and chill.” No more Netflix. No more surprise WhatsApp messages in the middle of a tedious workday. No more connection. No more intimacy.
No more us.
The worst of this all is that my last memory of her is her distance in the end. How she crossed her arms over her chest as a way to queue my exit. Or how she moved her face away when I instinctively went to kiss her lips goodbye. Her cold and weak last embrace. The way in which she stood a few meters away from the front door, almost hiding in the kitchen, as if it me leaving her place wasn’t far enough. And she blocking me from WhatsApp, right after I left.
There’s no easy way to do this. Going through this pain and the agony of every empty minute, hour and day that I will have to fill without her, moving forward. As the future before us holds no longer a common story and all the things we planned together go to die in a nonexistent, happy life.
“Goodbye, Edo,” wasn’t the last thing she said, but it’s all my mind will remember here, at the end of the road. Heartbreaking shit. Heartbreaking, indeed.