"Keep it real."
Were these the last words she was ever going to speak to me?
A three-day fight, played out over text messages, emails, phone calls, and a six-hour standoff in my apartment had finally come to a head. This was it. The numbing silence hanging over us and drowning in the room ended by me asking, "Will you stay the night?"
Her response was simple and terse. "Keep it real."
Three years of dating, flirting, loving, brunches, fights, movies, day long sex-ins, quickies in the shower, long talks of moving in together and steps towards marriage ended with three simple words.
No more dates. No more cuddles. No more snide comments about every little single thing I do, no matter how hard I try to keep you happy. How can co-existing be this difficult?
Double-fault doesn't mean a redo nor does it lead to compromise. It leads to stasis. The trick is to move past it, to power through and find the answers. Romantic comedies tell you to never give up. Fights and disagreements don't mean it should end.
And yet. (Keep it real.)
I watched as she lugged two trash bags of her belongings out of my apartment. I had half of a thought to lock the door of my apartment and hold the rest of her stuff hostage.
I didn't. The vindictive side of me stayed silent. Instead, I didn't leave my bed. I was drained of energy, a useless blob of a man. She returned, gathered the last of her clothes (but not hair ties). Tears welling -- in both her eyes and mine -- the end was nigh.
Over. A shut case. Signed, sealed, (you know the rest).
"Keep it real."
Good-bye I said in my mind. Thanks for the memories.
Worst Labor Day weekend ever.
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