I remember it was a Sunday. I was doing that thing that everyone does on a Sunday night, where you simultaneously avoid, and prepare for the week ahead. Except this time was different. I was preparing to break your heart. To shatter our worlds into unrecognisable fragments. You came to my house and knocked on my bedroom door expecting us to eat Thai food on the floor and gaze into each others' eyes. Instead, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared into the mirror at both of us and told you it was over. You cried and I was mean. Meaner than I knew was possible. I will never forgive myself. You were (are) one of the kindest people I have ever known. You were a lovely person. You just weren’t my person.
You held my face and told me that if I left, you would lose all faith in women and humanity. I left anyway. You looked me in the eyes and told me that I was going to break the hearts of both our families. I left anyway.
The last time I saw you, you walked into the restaurant I was eating in, and you stared at me for a fleeting second. I froze. You promptly looked the other way. Like we had never known each other. Did we know each other? I don’t remember.
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