This is the way you left me, I’m not pretending
No hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending
This is the way that we love, like it’s forever
Then live the rest of our life, but not together
I skipped the Pride Parade today. Last time I had been there, in 2019, my ex was part of it with her company. When I saw her coming from the crowd, I ran into the parade and kissed her. We had been on a very nasty fight shorty before that, and I hadn’t seen her for like a week. It was my way of extending an olive branch, after all the turmoil. But it was too late. I had already decided to break up with her. A couple of weeks later, we weren’t together anymore. So going back to the Pride thing, well, it was just too painful. And stressful, being there again and risking to see her once more.
I went for a bike ride and then a walk, to ease the mind. As I walked past her old office, I scoffed, annoyed. I wondered if she fucked her colleague there too. Or at all, during our time together. Which is what I tell everybody, to simplify the history of our breakup. It’s easier to explain if she cheated on me. Unfortunately, I have no hard evidence, but a shitload of doubts. Doubts she did nothing but cementing in my head, by her insistence on “staying friends” with this piece of shit of a guy, after she swore she had stopped the affair they were having before we became official. She was so goddamn adamant on keeping that asshole in her life, that she even preferred to end our relationship rather than this… “Friendship.” And, here I find myself yet again, crying and feeling sad and angry over how everything went down until our demise.
I wish I could be dramatic and say “Nobody won. We both lost in the end;” but hat’d be a big fallacy. Here I am, over two years after our final breakup, still thinking and writing about us, about her. I’m almost certain she’s not given over a minute of headspace for me in the last year or so. Maybe she didn’t win, but for sure she didn’t lose either. If anything, I did. Tremendously.
Over two years of grief and hundreds of pages inspired, in one way or another, by her and the suffering she left in me. Ironically, we were together less time than that; around one and a half years, in total. And that’s including all the breakups and make ups we had in between. And here I keep on going, padding the length of this book that doesn’t seem to be anywhere near a happy ending. Or an end. Period.