On Florence and the death of a romance

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There are two halves to a breakup. Halves, but not entirely. More like two different pieces – think a broken vase. The vase cracks, then it breaks apart, forming halves that you can’t just slot back in place, because of the tiny bits you can’t see which are lost forever. I guess what I’m trying to say is that breakups are a two-player game, one with asymmetrical roles.

You see, almost exclusively, the conclusion to breakup isn’t reached collaboratively. One person will always be more ready. Ready to collect themselves before the fact. To rehearse their lines. For the other, the end of a relationship can hit with the force of a runaway train. There’s no time to think, to get out of the way. Your life is one thing and then, suddenly, it’s different.

The confusion is the thing, I think. The bit that most people struggle with. Humans are rational beings. We need a reason. A reason helps us to file grief away. This happened because of this, and so next time I won’t do that.

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