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It was absolutely jarring.
To have your partner be a perfect reflection of you. As in every single thing clicked and made sense—your ideals, your beliefs, your values—as though the puzzle of a trillion pieces were finally connected and formed the perfect picture. Even going as far as to say your personalities were merging or at least complemented each other enough to fit and make sense together.
To have your partner be entirely obsessed with you. As in, every time they looked at you, they looked at you with such adoration in their eyes. The sort of gaze that made you feel cared for and safe. The sort of lingering stare that made you believe in a forever, that made you believe in more. For their touch to equate to that same adoration, by the way they hold you with such gentleness and care, it’s easy to get swept away in it.
To have your partner be absolutely in love with you. For them to say they’ve never felt this way with anyone else before in soft whispers, and to litter your body in kisses and “I love yous,” and to make promises of a future of forever.
How could you then just wake up one morning and feel nothing at all?
Confusion was left in her wake. The deep puzzlement with strong laces of frustration, and a searing, devastating sadness.
Anger was there too, of course. Why would it not be?
The daggers she would stare into the back of his head, each and every time they were forced to be near each other was something she knew she couldn’t hide all too well. Even so, those daggers held no genuine sharpness or point, as the clear vacancy in her eyes muddled the effect.
It was always known that she was a “I hope he dies” sort of person towards any sort of inconvenience or conflict. There was never usually any real, genuine bite in those thoughts, truly, but she was always the type of girl to offhandedly say it.
However, she could not even bring herself to think of that towards him. She could not even dare herself to let it even pass as a simple thought, because she still loved him. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want him to suffer. She didn’t want to cause him any pain. She didn’t want to be in a world where he wasn’t in it.
Thus, as much as she wanted to put up a front of coolness and nonchalance towards it all, she couldn’t. Her eyes always told everything through the furrow in her brows or the emptiness in her stare. She was always thinking of him—thinking of what she could have done differently, thinking of what could make him love her again, thinking of why things had to change—or thinking of nothing at all. It was rather pitiful.
A part of her would like to think she would be less bothered, if he gave her a reason.
The lack of answers or any sort of reasoning chewed at her very core. What could she have done differently? Was there anything that could have been done? Would this have happened anyways?
He promised her forever.
He said he loved her.
He claimed that he’s never felt this way with another girl.
How does that go away overnight?
It was getting to the point where she lacked self preservation. She couldn’t bring herself to care for her own pride and dignity. She wanted to ask—to beg—for a reason—anything.
She wanted him to give her closure—a sense of understanding.
She hated not knowing. She absolutely hated being left out of the circle. She hated feeling so helpless and clueless and stupid and naive and—she knew he knew that. She knew he had to have understood that. He was the only one who truly did understand her afterall, just as she was the only one to truly understand him. Yet, why didn’t he understand her enough to know she needed to know the “why” of what changed to be able to move on?
Even then, how could she move on? How do you even move on from this? How can you move on from the fact that your partner gave you absolutely everything and was completely in it to being void of any feelings beyond friendship and giving you nothing at all?
It was clear he wanted to remain friends.
He admitted that when he broke up with her—”I still think you’re very cool”—”Nothing about you needs to change, it’s all me”—”I’d like to still be friends with you”—He has to understand that going backwards would be difficult, right?
They were each other’s world for a good lot of time. He was everything to her. Maybe not the entire center of her being, but enough of an impact to want it to last and stay. To her, she swore that he felt the same. She wanted to believe it in his words, his actions, the way he looked at her, the way he loved her. She would put her life on the line to prove that he, at the very least, felt that way once—she would put her life on the line to simply know if any of it was true, because how could any of it have been real, if it went away overnight? How could any of it have meant anything to him, if he was so willing to throw it all away and switch back to being just friends?
How dare he even consider the thought of going back to being friends? Then to leave it all up to her to decide.
How could he claim he wants to even be friends when he was indifferent to the fact that this was killing her inside? Not the fact that they broke up—of course that hurt, deeply, but, no—The fact that he treated her like she wasn’t even there, whenever they were forced to be near each other, as though she was a ghost. The fact that he acted as though nothing happened between them, as though this break up was amicable. The fact that he acts as though this never did and never will affect him, as though she was so insignificant in his life, so of course this wouldn’t scar him the way it did her. How dare he think that going back to being friends after riding such a high of promises only to snatch them all away was even possible?
Yet she didn’t want to lose him.
Even if plainly being around him or the mere thought of him brought her physical distress—her heart tightening, her vision blurring, her nose reddening, her breathing shallow, her mind distorting—she didn’t want a world without him in it.
No one else understood her in the same ways he did. No one else has ever had her the same way he did. No one knew every single little thing about her the way she did. A large part of her wanted to still believe that she was the only one who understood, had, and knew him all those same ways too.
They matched in every single way imaginable. It was impossible to list. You have to trust her when she says that she believes that they were perfect together—that they were so utterly compatible—by how their energies matched, their goals aligned, their idea of the future paralleled onto the same path.
Everything made sense.
Everything should have worked out.
Everything WAS working out.
How does that all change overnight? How does someone suddenly lose all of their feelings for someone after one night? How could you love someone so deeply and give them the promise that this would be the end of all the endings—only to wake up one morning and feel nothing beyond friendship?
That shouldn’t happen.
That doesn’t happen.
That can’t possibly happen.
Why did it have to happen to her?
It wasn’t her, he told her.
It wasn’t her fault this fell apart, he told her.
He told her that it was all him, that she was perfect as she was, and he wouldn’t want her to change anything about herself—but is it insane to say she would? If it was something small or anything at all, she would change it to keep him. How does he expect her not to walk away from this questioning what she could have done differently to keep him? How could he even fathom to believe that this wouldn’t affect her the way that it does? How could he not think she wouldn’t always question that if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?
How can he sit there and act like everything was fine—when she’s been having on and off nausea at the plain idea of him? How dare he sit there all poised and perfect—when she was on the constant verge of collapse? How could he act like nothing happened between them—when he was her entire world, her entire future? How could he hold such indifference towards her and their relationship—when he said he loved her and she said it too?
How could you say you still want to be friends with someone? How could you say that you still care about them? How could you say that it was never their fault and that they were perfect as they were? — When you ignore the fact that they are in front of you. When you can barely recognize the hurt that you have left. When you act as though there was nothing ever there to begin with.
How could you ever say you loved someone only to wake up and for that to no longer be true?