My heart is catatonic. Dearest I awaited your return, when you closed the door firmly behind you. My darling I hanged your shirt in my storage space. I slept in your T-shirt trying to feel your breath tingling my skin, hoping for your embrace. I listened to your voicemail, checking my phone constantly, with just an inkling of hope that you might call. I saved a bottle of red, hoping eventually we might give a toast, on your return. I bought that novel you couldn’t stop gushing about, hoping your fingers might find time to caress its pages. However that was a couple of months ago.

After a moment of being emotionally subdued, I’ve tossed the T-shirt, deleted your number, drank the wine and read the book. I have shunned any inclination of you ever coming back. Am I rueful? Hardly, your absence was ominous and I swept it aside hoping it was all an illusion. Darling tell me this; why is it an articulate, benevolent gentleman like yourself failed to inform me that I was nothing more than a round heeled lady. That I was impotent, that what we had will never blow up to my expectations. Your behaviour was impertinent and I had to snap back to reality after reading an article on ‘Signs Your Ex Has Moved On,’ and got my groove back after a dose of ‘He’s Not That Into You.’

The human psyche is amazing, it finds ways of numbing the pain. What we had was mercurial, I should have seen the alarm bells, however when you blinded by love or lust it undermines any degree of sanity or better yet a certain level of dogma. Guess I’m just a minuscule object and deserved no sense of courtesy. It’s all an enigma really, but one can brush it off as expected behaviour. What I’ve learnt is that a broken glass is just that; broken promises and shattered expectations that should have been expected.

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