I wish it could have been better.

I’m here sitting at my brother’s couch drinking beer, slightly buzzed, watching Californication. I had just broken up with my ex-girlfriend, for the third time. Thinking what I could have said something better to make myself feel better.


Maybe she was right. Maybe I’m always making this about myself. Maybe I’m not.

I take another sip.

Breaking up is hard. Everybody has gone through this. Although, it is much harder to do it through text. You don’t get that last glimpse at your significant other’s face. That one glimpse that’ll stick with you forever. The one for the books.

Tears rolls down my face.

I thought she was the one. Maybe she is, but not in our current state of mind. I still have a lot to mature. I lack what’s called, Emotional Intelligence. Something that I have to yet discover on my own.

I take another sip of my beer.

I loved her too much. But maybe too much? No. It can’t be. It really hurts when you expect somebody to love you as much as you do to them. Expectations are disappoinments. Never expect anybody to do the same as you do to them. You’ll never be disappointed.

I grab another beer and pour it into a glass.

The last time I met with my ex-girlfriend was at her house. I stopped by to say goodbye as I was leaving Moreno Valley, CA.

I texted her, “I’m here.”

I waited outside her house, until she came outside. It was a cold evening. She came outside, looking beautiful as always. She had a Starbucks in her hand, and I quickly knew what she was drinking. It was great to see her. It always is. I hugged her and I said I missed her. I always do. Our conversation was quite frankly.

“How are you?”


How are you feeling?”


She suffers from anxiety. Which I have no problem taking it as my own, as I also suffer from it.

Cars pass by making such a ruckus, we can barely have a decent, quiet conversation. I find myself being repeated often. And I tell her:

“If anything happens, I just want to let you know that I love you.”

Her response:

“Oh my God, you always say that.”

If only she could have said something more reassuring. Although I didn’t mind it.

After an awkward silent presence, I decided to say goodbye. I hugged her for a good 20 seconds and said, “I love you” from the bottom of my heart. I glanced back and waited for her to go inside her house. I got into my car and stared into the open street from the driver’s side of the car for a good 30 seconds. I thought to myself:

“I should text her expressing how weird our conversation was.”

I drove off into the freeway, and off to In N Out as I was craving a Double Double with Animal Style fries.

As I was making line, I texted her.

“Is everything alright between us? I sensed something was wrong.”

She texted me she was having a bad day, because she hadn’t slept well the last couple of days, her alcoholic father was being a total asshole today, and she had been feeling lonely the majority of the day (if only I wasn’t working to make her feel better). She wished me a farewell and told me to drive safe and have fun.

I understood, I told her I loved her and thanked her.

I grabbed my burger, drove straight to the freeway and made my way to my destination.

I listened to Mac DeMarco: Salad Days, and his other albums (2, Salad Days Demos, etc). It reminded me of her since she had shown me who he was.

I wanted to cry.

I arrived to Riverside and she was the first one I texted.

“Well I’ve arrived”
“That’s good.”
“All good.”
“Idk what to say anymore.”

I think to myself, “just say anything.” Anything reassuring. She didn’t. At least to my knowledge.

From there on, we have a slight argument and a “it was a mistake getting back together, again,” slipped out. I was hurt.

From there on, it progressively got worse.

This is where the actually truth comes out. We both said our indifferences.

And then we broke up. She blocked me from every social media to forget about me. I get it.

The days of all days, had come. It sucked. Tears had seeped through my eyes, and it just felt like I lost my best friend. My lover. My everything.

I finish my fourth drink and I’m quite drunk now. As I finish this story, I’m laying in bed thinking of her. What she might be doing. Is she thinking of me? I hope so. I close my eyes while watching Californication.

And then…

I hear a notification from my phone.

It’s her. The woman. My woman.

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