It's OVER

IT’S OVER.

(What a plot twist, huh?)

I didn’t see it ending like this— but maybe that’s the joke.

Maybe we were just two extras trying to play the lead in each other’s stories.

I bent. I twisted. I folded myself in half — (not for everything, sure, but enough to matter).

But one delicate little topic, one untouchable thing— and suddenly, we’re on different planets with no rocket fuel left.

You said, “Let’s find a solution.” How sweet.

But when I gave you mine,

all I got was a corporate-style breakup text:

“I wish you the very best and good luck.”

Oh. Okay.

Was that line from your template, or did you come up with it yourself?

Not even a pause.

Not even a flicker of “Damn, this hurts.”

Just—poof.

Like the last five months were a coffee run you forgot even happened.

Guess it never meant that much to you. 

And silly me, thinking it did.

Thinking we were building something instead of playing house
on quicksand.

Maybe your feelings were never real.

Maybe you faked the whole thing.

(Maybe I just wanted it too badly to notice.)

But you know what?

I’m done dissecting dead things.

Let the autopsy rest.

It’s over.

And maybe that’s the best line in the whole damn story.

Goodbye, love.

You were a beautiful waste of time.