This morning I woke up, rolled out of bed, and realised I don’t love you anymore. Somewhere between all the endless baths, the sea salts and white wine, I came to the realisation that it is ok not to want to be with you, and I have no choice but to let you go.
I made the bed, went over to the kitchen. You made scrambled eggs, still the best in town, yet they didn’t taste like they usually do. There wasn’t enough flavour in them, the bread tasted dry, like our love life.
I finally realised it’s ok to stop apologising for not loving you anymore. For time passing, for lives changing, for me having fallen for someone else. Because I’m never going to be the dream you wanted me to be, and you’re not the man I dreamed of.
You, beautiful you, spread joy as I’ve spread my legs; trying to convince ourselves that this dead end has chemistry in it still. Because it was good, it was really good. It simply isn’t anymore.
So let’s put a lid on it, frame the memories and hang them on the wall. Let’s remember why we laughed and stop pretending. Let’s finally close this chapter like a good game of chess: undeniable defeat to the inevitable end of me and you.