As I pushed the “delete” button on my cell phone and watched her contact information disappear into thin air, I realized that what I was doing was the modern equivalent of burning my diary or breaking that heart-framed picture on the nightstand. Somehow, simply pressing a button didn’t feel as satisfying. I was still in the first stages of a break-up, before anger and then heartbreak took their turns. I just felt numb.
There were no excuses this time to allow me to piece together the crumbling remains of my ego or self-righteous anger. She hadn’t cheated on me; she hadn’t fallen in love with some old high-school friend or met someone new. I hadn’t done anything in particular to merit her breaking up with me. The words that had left me speechless were the six most-dreaded in the romantic canon…
“I just don’t love you anymore.”
The heartbreaking lines had been saved for the time when they would have their maximum effect. She had been in New York on business, and I had planned on coming up on the weekend, after her presentation was over, to spend a little time with her there enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. We skated in Central Park, attended a Broadway production, and were strolling down a park lane on a crisp night in late autumn. I pulled her close, and she resisted a little. Surprised, I pulled away and looked at her face. It was ashen, guilty.
“Cole, I have something to tell you. I feel really bad about waiting until now, the night’s so perfect, but I was afraid you were going to propose to me or something so I thought I’d just tell you now…”
Had my hand not been in my right coat pocket, it would have dropped the diamond ring in its case. The night, the setting, the ring, those six little words; the perfect symphony of relationship heartbreak.
About 5 days and 5 bottles of whiskey later, the heartbreak hadn’t subsided, so I decided to lay off the whiskey and go for a walk. Fresh air always gave me a little perspective. The daily walks continued, and my perspective grew.
“Better to have found out before the proposal than 5 years into a pathetic marriage”. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but the thought was something to start with, a “delete” button on a bad break up.
L. Hudd, 29 - Writer
{ 0 comments… add one now }