We had true happiness, contentment and real bliss. And then we didn't. And from then on, we never really came back together again and I never saw it for what it was - now a fractured, damaged relationship that wasn't going to survive. But we kept going, neither wanting to give in despite the undertone of imbalance, tension and drift and I truly loved him. Then it cracked - a fissure too deep to ignore, and no way back.
Once spoken, you can never take words back, and I'd listened to one too many unkind, cruel and unnecessary words in the months before. And that night a new wave of bitterness was directed at me, with a particularly nasty accusation that had been festering for 18 months, never mentioned, never discussed, and then spat out with the intent to wound.
It didn't matter that it was totally untrue, a fabrication of a booze drenched memory, tailor made for the victim mentality it was manufactured for. Nasty and cruel, it was slung at me at a particularly vulnerable moment, and I went to bed that night knowing I couldn't take any more. In the morning, I knew I had to ask him to leave and that he would and it would be over. In those moments of decision and action, you don't stop to think "this is going to be shit", or "are you ready to feel incredibly lonely, low and sad". You make the decision because there isn't another choice to make.
It was over. He broke my heart. And I was single again.
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