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And Then We Broke Up, Again
How Many Endings Make an Ending?
I lost count of how many times we broke up. My friends lost count and patience. They got tired of repeating that I deserved better, but I wanted you.
We broke up, and I cried, and I told myself I could get over it. I told myself that we hadn’t been together that long (as if it mattered), and that we were far from a perfect fit (who wants perfect). I told myself that if it was over, then it wasn’t meant to be.
When we met up the next day, I walked next to you like a gal heading to the gallows. Dead woman walking. Sound the drums, cue the drama. But we talked it out, and the ending wasn’t an ending, just another turn — tentative steps to a better us, a new chapter.
The second time we broke up, it was your silence that sliced us. Another dreadful walk home to a dreaded gray couch conversation. But when we arrived, my sorrow was met with your surprise. Not quite as if the breakup had been in my mind, but almost. Our doubts danced around each other, but while I was sure they were an echo of our last fight, you thought we could work them out this time. So I stayed. And we tried. And we worked, for a while.
The third time we broke up, I was sure there was no turning back — a dead end. I went home to cry. An impossibly sad week turned into an…
