Endgame

I did all my weekend activities. Had a beer with my colleagues on a video call. Went out for walks and bike rides in the sun. Managed to wait until I was home to cry alone. Well rounded days, no? What else do you want from me?
I don’t know, fellas. Think I’m missing the mark here. I feel stuck. Literally everyone else is too, due to the COVID-19 situation. But you know what I mean. I’m not moving forward in life. Keep coming back to where I started, unable to jog on. Also literally, considering my fucked up ankle ordeal.
What’s the point of these words? Relentlessly dragging myself over the misery of my post-breakup and coronavirus-ridden loneliness; continuing to hold on to the memories of whatever good times I had. That’s no way to spend these already convoluted weeks. What is the endgame here, friends? A call? An email? A visit from the ex? Everything sounds delusional at this juncture, when I can still smell the smoke of the ships we burnt.
I know I’ve said this before, but I can’t -and shouldn’t- do this anymore. I’m sorry to say, peeps. Realistically, there won’t be a restart, nobody will reach out, no words will be spoken nor read from one another. The little there remained, my ex and I mangled beyond recognition. I doubt she’ll ever read any of what I’ve written lately and, if she does, she’ll probably find me as pitiful as I feel for writing it.
Before I leave though, let me ask you a question, people: Am I the only lonely soul finding myself wishing to take a break from a breakup, during the quarantine? Wanting a cease fire, a truce, in this unrelenting battle nobody is winning? And please, be brutally honest: How pathetic is this?

2 Comments

  1. I found your blog back in 2014. It was, and still is, amazing. You said you want a break from your breakup during this outbreak… Anytime I’m going through a breakup I always want a break from it. Why do some people seem to be pushed down, get up, and wipe some dirt of their knees and carry on top the next task in their To-Do list like nothing happened? While others are pushed down, kicked in their stomach and face, and if they dare to move they’ll receive the same treatment all over again? One never seems to know Eduardo. Yet whatever you do, keep writing. But seeing as I’ve been reading this for almost 6 years, I think you understand this…

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