So this is how it feels to fall out of love. It hurts as much as, if not more than, getting dumped. Basically, you are already aware that you suck balls for breaking someone’s heart; someone with whom you shared spit, slow-danced for the first time, and made the wonderful discovery that, indeed, Champorado tastes good with tuyo.
I have never been on the other side of this scenario. I’ve always been the smitten one; the more interested, the less interesting. I have been many a time wide-eyed with awe at different people who I found endlessly fascinating. I used to think that it was the most magical feeling, that moment when you realize you’re seemingly the only person who found him adorable and cluelessly amazing. I was that kind of girl. I was always just certain about how I felt about someone, and I was pretty sure that I wasn’t the type who would wake up one day and think, “Why are we together again?”
Until now, I’ve always wondered how others could do that. God knows I’ve always wanted to know the inside scoop from a heartbreaker, because I’ve been the heartbroken far too many times. Now I realize that it doesn’t just happen. It’s extremely terrifying to think that people could change their minds just like that. One day head over heels in love with you and the next day oblivious to your existence. I don’t know how it happened actually. Just that it felt like there was a demon slowly creeping into my thoughts, eventually manifesting through my words and finally consuming me through my actions. I fought it. I fought hard. But I was wrong to fight it alone, when I knew someone else was involved.
This is not an attempt at redemption whatsoever. I for one believe that it doesn’t exist in breakups. There is no silver lining when the person you love the most decides that he doesn’t want anything to do with you right now, much less the rest of your lives. It’s a crippling thought and only now am I finding out that it’s a double-edged sword.
Now that I’m about to break someone’s heart, what do I say? I am sure about how I feel and not feel anymore. But I am not sure how I got there. There was nothing wrong with him. There was nothing wrong with us. I think everything that’s wrong was with me.
I am sacrificing something that’s familiar and sure and convenient, while most people want to be where I am now. I am not breaking up with him because I’m unhappy. I am breaking up with him because I need something more than happiness. I want the excitement that uncertainty brings. I want to take risks without complicating someone else’s life. I need to feel complete on my own and not because I am with the most perfect human being on earth.
I am ending our relationship not because I fell in love with someone else. I don’t want to date other people. I want to spend more time alone. And alone doesn’t mean sulking in the corner of a coffee shop being emo and weird. Alone as in traveling to other countries alone and watching movies by myself. Alone as in being comfortable enough to dine out at restaurants and making reservations for one.
I am aware at how unfair everything is. He already thinks that this is it—this is the life he wanted for the both of us. We were going to get married and settle down and watch TV on Friday nights because we’ve agreed that we don’t always have to go out; and I would cook his favorite pasta and we would drink our coffee—decaf for him—in the den, with me writing my book and him fixing his drum set. I could see it all when I look him in the eyes. It’s what makes everything harder than it already is. It’s what breaks my heart. There is no way around it.
But I guess that’s why they call it breaking up. Because no matter how much you want everything to stay intact, it won’t. Hearts will be broken, tears will be shed, and lives will be ripped apart.