All of a sudden, he decided his life would be better without me, when a month ago he looked at his life and I was all he saw.
There is nothing worse than a slow fade. I didn’t believe it until now. The fade felt easier than a sudden moment because of the way it crept up. Little did I know that was the worst part.
The way the heart quietly aches as it slowly rips apart, undetectable to the outside eye or even my own self as I go about my day. Not having a specific moment to look back on and be able to say “that was it,” but instead a collection of unmet glances and goodnight texts that never came.
If my heart is going to break, I want it to break hard and fast, like the ripping off of a bandaid.
Each piece by piece break of a slow fade prolongs hurt, and in turn prolongs healing. Months go by and the effects linger, now infinitely longer than your hands ever did and even more unexpected than meeting you ever was.
I am tired of feeling a new piece of my heart break off each time you refuse to meet my eyes or when I hear a song come on that you used to sing in your car when you drove me home. In those moments, I didn’t know I was hurting until they came and persisted, occupying the space of my head and my heart that I swore I would never let you dwell in again.
Yes, I believe it to be true: There is nothing worse than a slow fade.
And for now I just wait for the day when it all fades enough to finally forget.