It wasn’t a real relationship, so it wasn’t a real break up. It was merely a falling apart. A bursting at the seams. A riff. A rip in the fabric of casual fucking: one day we were fucking, and the next day we weren’t talking. These kinds of things happen. I’ve weathered it before, and I’ll weather it again. In one moment, the feckless copulation and then – nothing. It’s the small thud of emptiness. Of meaninglessness. Of opening up your legs and seeing nothing there. Checking your phone and finding no new text messages. Going out to bars and seeing no one there. Wandering aimlessly through your own sexual fantasies and finding that you lack the inspiration to give your former sexual partner a starring role in masturbation material. Things have fizzled out, and that’s okay, but it’s also fairly boring. The attraction has waned, and while there’s nothing wrong with that, there’s always that ebbing hope that maybe it could have been more than just a fling that faded to black. All the ‘what if’s of wanting something more than just another dead end fuck feast come nipping at heels, even if the apathy of attraction has muted your once raging desires. It’s not a real break up, it’s just the end of the road with that one particular person. The story is over, and the ending is dull. There are no fights, no nasty text messages. There’s no screaming or hoping or fighting for each other. There’s no hope beyond the ending, no thought of a second chance. There’s just an ending. A short, stubby, fat, hairy, dull, unattractive ending. A queasy punctuation at the end of the sentence. And while it still incites some certain kind of sadness, it’s not the all consuming depression that seems to accompany rejection and heart break. It’s just resounding emptiness. It’s an unexciting sadness, like watching a badly directed drama end on an awkward note. It could have been so much better, but it wasn’t, and now it’s over, so it’s time to move on. But I still feel sickly on the inside, as though there’s a part of me that is still finding a reason to believe that he must want me or love me even in the face of our mutual romantic apathy. It’s the disappointment of knowing we both tried to love each other, but neither of us were brave enough to make it happen. I would like to be brave on day, but today is not that day.