It is so strangely empty to give up on somebody. You've done the fighting and the screaming, the whispered practiced speeches you said in the mirror and the crying in public places. the attempts at logic, the subtle sideways begging. And you sit in your cooling car or in the library or on the train and you realize - that was actually it, wasn't it. It's not worth it anymore. The remains of your relationship have been ashes for so long now - why are you still trying to call the fire department. Why are you doing this. You never walk out without shaking, and they always walk out having said the last word and struck the last blow.
And you think: when did it happen? When did I grow up more than you did? When did you stop trying to be a better person? Why wasn't I good enough to keep in your life? Were you ever listening? Did you ever care what was going on with me? Was I just around because then you'd have somebody on your side? Why are you like this? Why? Why? Why?
I wanted cutting it off to be cathartic. It was instead kicking a winter beehive. Nothing but a cold sting inside.
