It’s not that easy

Cheating.

I tell myself, it’s one of the most disgusting things a person can do to their significant other.

There’s something so inherently ugly in the word itself, like trying to get away with more than you deserve. Than what is due to you. You’re trying to double the benefits, while weaseling out of the work.

And yet, when it happened, I felt nothing other than a deep, profound sadness, doused with disappointment. There was anger, but that was momentary. It was a side thought to the awning black hole of feelings of grief and loss that were building up in me.

Like when you’re playing Monopoly, 3 hours in, and an opponent flips the board out of anger. Chance cards and Community Chest cards littered about, metallic dogs and hats strewn on the floor, Property cards everywhere. There’s no fixing that, you can’t just put all the pieces back on the board. There were so many cards, tiles, pieces that went into that game, even if you tried to restore everything by memory, something will always be missing, and you’ll realize that it takes little for that situation to happen again.

Who knows what could have happened in our future? Now I’ll never know. It’s not fair that someone decided to end the game for me before I was ready.

During a normal breakup, reasons come up – you weren’t good enough; I don’t love you any more. I would have preferred that. At least I would know he was no longer invested. But he couldn’t tell me why he did it. He wouldn’t even tell me he didn’t love me anymore.

They all wanted me to be mad, angry, furious. Even he was surprised I wasn’t yelling at him all the time.

I couldn’t see the point, and I still don’t. It wouldn’t make me feel better.

He wanted me to give him another chance, to move past it. That was inconceivable to me. How could I take back someone who didn’t hold sacred the same things as me?

As if a person in shock, I wandered around for a while, not able to understand why people were telling me the things they were. Like a victim of a natural disaster who has been rescued, dazed and confused, people tell you to do things, and a lot of the times, they don’t make sense to you. It might seem natural to someone who hasn’t just had their entire world flipped upside-down, but to the person who’s just gone through it, it’s all just background noise.

The part I’m still trying to get past, is how people couldn’t understand how much I still cared about him, even in the weeks that followed. You don’t just go from loving someone to hating their guts in one day (unless of course there’s physical abuse). You are angry with them, disappointed, furious, but you can’t just stop loving them. Not immediately, at least.

I guess though, I still don’t hate him. I pity him. And apparently, that’s one of the worst things you can do to a person.

Half Of Me

The transition from being part of a couple to a singular being. Again.

this_face_is_half_of_me_by_jessica_lorraine_z-d6s9sbz(via)

He likes the custard tart filling. I love the pastry more. Perfect. He scoops out the filling, devouring it in a single spoon and passes the now hollow tart to me which I quickly pop into my mouth.

5 Months Later

I look at the box of a dozen custard tarts now sitting on my kitchen counter. Who’s going to finish this up? There’s only one of me. I carefully take 6 tarts out, scoop out the filling and throw it in the bin. There, just how like it.

It’s only been five months but he’s still everywhere in this flat. Why would I need six pillows on my bed? They take up a lot of space. I remove 3, dust it off and place them in the vacuum storage bags. Off you go to the top of the cupboard. There, now I have more space in bed for myself.

The wardrobe, hmm… definitely need more closet space for my new spring/summer haul. I take my shopping out of the paper bags and hang them up in the new found empty space in the wardrobe. Brand new and perfect.

A glass of wine. I need a glass of wine.

And it isn’t long before I get distracted by the many labels in the fridge indicating that some of the products are nearly expiring. Pulling out a large black trash bag, I begin emptying out the fridge. There, cooking for one. I won’t need all this stuff anyway.

And just like that, I slowly began cleansing my other half, replacing it with shiny new things.

I feel whole again.

Strangely liberating.

So this is what it feels like.