I grieved you.

Grieving is such an interesting thing when you don't know you're doing it. 

Our place had become quiet. There was an obvious resentment in the air after I had given Ryan an ultimatum: stay sober and clean for a month or never hear from me again. He seemed to be willing to try and work things out. In that conversation, he mentioned the friend he'd stayed with during his bender, Jesse. He had a room for rent, and he was thinking about moving there in order to save more on rent and give us some space. I had so many questions.

Was I just a transitional place in between Becky and Jesse?

Had I imagined this whole thing? 

Was my yearning for a perfect relationship so intense I couldn't see the signs that I was being used?

Did he ever love me? 

Questions that remained painfully unanswered to this day, even though I asked, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Our routine went back to what it was for a couple of days, except we no longer cuddled to doomscroll before bed; there were no "I love you"s when leaving for work, no more welcoming hugs and kisses after our days were over and we reunited at home to talk about our day.

It wasn't until Wednesday night that we had a conversation about us while getting ready for bed. It didn't feel like there was an "us" anymore, and that was silently killing us both. I gave in that night and finally let him in again, between tears, "I'm sorry"s and "I love you"s; we kissed again and fell asleep in each other´s arms. War was over. What can I say? I'm a lover.

April 19th, 2024. Our apartment started feeling warm again, and right after a long day for both of us, he offered to make dinner while I impatiently waited for "The Tortured Poets Department" to drop. Timing couldn't have been worse for him to drop the news that he was not going to even try to do the "sober month", nor was he going to continue living with me. Trying to eat dinner felt like swallowing rocks into an already sunken stomach while my vision got blurrier because of the tears. We could only handle one song, and after that I had to go lay down. He followed shortly after; he laid down next to me and tried to comfort me about his decision. He just wanted space, something I was having trouble giving him because of my attachment style. I couldn’t hate him, so I started hating myself. 

Moving day came, and I helped him pack, holding back tears and faking smiles about how much fun it was going to be for him to live with musician friends. He tried his best not to ask me for any help, but I loved him; I was going to do it anyway. After a quiet twenty-minute ride, we got to his place, on the corner of Hell No and Are You Kidding. The house smelled like what you'd imagine Indie Sleaze smells like, and not in a good way. It had a small stage in the already cluttered living room. We made our way to his room, and the first thing I noticed was the wook-coded tapestries. I really want to be supportive, so I didn't say anything negative about the place, even when I saw a hole someone punched in the wall. That was a "boy house". When our goodbyes happened, I couldn't hold the tears anymore, but I told him not to worry; I was happy for him. I was just going to miss waking up to him every morning, to which he responded by lending me his favorite "The 1975" shirt so I wouldn't miss him at night. He assured me he'd text me every day and spend the weekends at mine, since his job was closer to my apartment. All lies in the end. 

The weekend came, and there were no signs of Ryan again. Having had enough of it, I tried calling him to end our time together, for both of our sakes, but he let silence answer for him. I wrote him a letter I was going to give to him with his shirt and other things I found in my apartment that were his, including the blue hoodie. Yes, the one he wore the night we met, how ironic and how cruel.

Sleep wouldn't come, no matter how hard I tried. I stayed inside unless work forced me out, letting messages go unanswered and days blur together. I forgot to eat, or maybe I just didn’t care to. The thought of food felt distant, like something meant for people who still had the energy to want things. A pile of things stayed in the corner waiting for someone who would never come.