Falling out of love is a terrible thing… In the whirlwind of discovery and passion, we shape the other in the image of our dreams and desires. Then time forces them to reclaim their true place… The lines blur, distort, shatter… the colors fade… For a while, we try to adapt, convincing ourselves that their flaws are charming, amusing, endearing quirks. But slowly, the ‘us’ fades, and the ‘I’ regains its strength… The mind takes over, eclipsing the heart. The children we once were become adults again…
A phase of tolerance begins—we reason with ourselves, telling ourselves that perfect, everlasting love is just a utopian illusion, that we must accept the little things that bother us and focus on what’s beautiful in them… Positivity, the survival instinct of love, the half-full glass mindset…
Then comes the moment when habits take hold. Passive acceptance. Resignation. The other becomes a fixture in our lives, like a piece of furniture… until fatigue and reflection creep in. We begin analyzing everything, questioning everything: ‘Do we truly have that much in common?’… ‘Do we have a future together?’… ‘I don’t miss her when I’m alone… Do I still love her?’… ‘Did I ever truly love her?’… And slowly, everything unravels…
We leave… once… twice… too many times… only to return because they beg us, because guilt gnaws at us for causing their pain. Sacrifice. By then, it’s already over, but the heart keeps resisting—until the final separation. You never know when it will happen… It’s sudden, unpredictable. It starts with something trivial—a meal we’ve prepared that they don’t appreciate—an excuse we seize upon. The final straw.
We slam the door. This time, we stop answering the phone. We delete their messages without reading them. And the ‘I’ reigns once more…
Text taken from a collection currently being written...
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