Imagine placing every atomic bomb in the world at the bottom of the deepest pit. Imagine detonating them all at once. The depth of that resulting crater is nothing compared to the void I still feel today, a month and 10 days after the end of our relationship.
40 days, like Christ’s days in the desert, during which I’ve missed her, hated her, cursed her, blamed her, understood her, excused her, and loved her. 40 days in which my life has blossomed again with new discoveries, interests, and encounters (no women, let’s be clear, I’m not interested, I still only want her), and good moments… but I’ve cared very little about any of it, since this abyss eats everything, absorbs everything, and leaves only one question: can you still break up when you’re soaked in love, like those cookies that fall apart because they’ve soaked up too much milk?
Unfortunately, yes, and it’s terrible.
It’s easy to say goodbye when you’re no longer in love. You do it with respect and kindness, like two old ladies at a gala tea. Or you can do it with indifference, simply turning your back and moving on. But try doing it when not only are you still in love, but you see that same love in the other person’s eyes. Try doing it after investing your whole self, constantly 10 centimeters from the breaking point. Try it. And you’ll see it’s against nature.
At first, it was easier: it was enough to make a list of all the reasons why this relationship no longer made sense. It was enough to list the partner’s shortcomings, the suffering and disappointments endured, the childish behavior—the kind of things where everyone agrees with you when you tell them.
Then you realize that being “right” is for fools and that maybe you weren’t so perfect yourself. I realize I’m high-maintenance, partly by character and partly because of the wounds I’ve suffered. I realize she always put up with me, supported me, and handled me. It’s not true that I was the only one pushing in this relationship; Honey Eyes put herself out there too.
You think that maybe she just couldn’t take it anymore, which is understandable after all. She’s at the peak of her value: not yet 28, with the kind of breathtaking beauty that even pro athletes and billionaires crave, the whole world chasing after her, crawling on all fours and promising her everything. When you’re born gorgeous, sexy, and highly desired, you’re not used to having to fight for a relationship, to having to work at it. But she did, for a long time, and then maybe she just couldn’t do it anymore. I can understand that, even if I struggle to justify it: I always stayed with her, I always forgave her and handled things, I always put in the work. I never abandoned her.
And so she left, she broke up with me, with a whole string of reasons. Good ones, honestly. Lately, thanks to some terrible advice from my psychologist, I focused on seeing everything that was wrong with the relationship. On all the reasons why my relationship, however full of love, was totally devoid of peace. She couldn’t stand the way I looked at her when she did things I didn’t like, and she left. I can understand that; in the end, feeling accepted is what everyone wants more than anything.
Then a week later, she came back.
And I was the one who didn’t want to take her back. Because if those insurmountable problems were real a week before… what makes them surmountable now? Because her words said she would change, but her behavior didn’t. Because it felt like a return born out of missing someone, not from a will to actually solve the problems.
In the end, I only wanted one thing from her: for her to fully want to be with me, putting herself on the line completely, acknowledging the things that weren’t working on her side just as I would have on mine, and helping each other out.
And so… Goodbye, Honey Eyes.
I loved you more than myself. I loved you to the very limit of what I could endure, to the point of breaking… I came within 2 centimeters of complete destruction. And I would have kept going, even beyond that limit, if only I’d had proof that you truly and completely wanted to be with me.
The fact that she’s out there fucking around today instead of being with me is a clear indication of the choice she made.
Goodbye, my love.
May you be happy, falling asleep in other arms, belly to belly.
PS:
In the end, I caved and took her back. And it lasted another 2 years. Then she left again. Let’s hope it’s for good this time.
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