More.

It’s throwing me off, I’m feeling nothing I expected, anticipated or prepared for. I don’t feel lonely or empty or without hope like most girls might. Mostly, I feel like none of it ever really happened. I feel light and airy, invincible kind of.

When he broke up with me I don’t really think he meant to.

“Are you happy?” he plainly asked of me.

I said, “I’m always happy” and it wasn’t a lie, I really had been for quite some time.

He paused, as he tended to do amidst a seemingly important conversation. The presence of such a pause meant several things to me. One of which served as a marker of something unsavory to come. Most generally, such dramatic gestures breed feelings of irritability. They made me coyly; maybe evilly smile on the inside, perhaps to steel myself against the words yet to come.

“Well” he began, then immediately took the liberty of another extended pause, his empty eyes rising to meet mine.

“I’m not happy” he declared.

His words bounced against the hollow walls of his office perched high above the world in his shiny office tower.

I couldn’t believe him, I wouldn’t if only because I had been in awe of my stellar performance in the previous months, the picture perfect role being perfectly delivered by me with such poise and confidence that I was beginning to believe it.

But I didn’t take the liberty of a drawn out pause, I responded deftly as if I had known what to say all along.

“What would you like to do about it?”

There was no answer as he stared deeply in the corner.

“Would you like to break up?” I said, almost with a sneer.

It may have been hours, perhaps days though it was only a few spare moments until he replied.

“Ok, fine”, he finally managed.

Days later he would confess that he thought that I’d put up a fight. All along I was apparently just looking for an out.