We broke up. There was never really any good reason why these things had to end, only that they did. When you told me, I told you that you were everything I had ever wanted in another person. That was true. You were. But I was not. So you made your way from me to be on your own. Making apparent how the intimacies we shared had led nowhere. This was sad.
Time passed and I became raw from the walls of silence that you had placed before me. The old clichés were not always true, as some wounds stayed open. It was often felt that closure was sought to help heal in these times, to help to cover the cracks and breaks in our hearts. I would like to have thought that it helped too, but when I saw you that last time I only felt that you did not care and this added to the hurt.
Probing you then with my questions gave nothing away and conversation soon turned to the everyday chat we had had so many times before. About family, friends, pets, food, jobs, places to go, things to see and people to meet. The fucking mundane. You took my words and made them ordinary. Never telling and never saying; and leaving me with never knowing. It was my fault for not being more persistent but by then I was too weak to fight and I still loved you. Those four words that made no sense because I could tell at least that you no longer loved me.