Oh, jeez this is killing me.

I sat on the park bench wringing my hands and staring at my feet, counting the number of times my shoe laces crossed over and over again.

What is taking so long?

The text she had sent me was so vague, so empty of anything: need to talk. meet at usual.

There wasn’t even a kiss.

She always put a kiss at the end of every text; she even curses me when I don’t do the same. It had sent us spiralling into an argument the last time. Part of me thinks I should do the same when she gets here, and as I saw her familiar pale silhouette part I readied myself to scream.

Then she came into eyesight and I saw the tears streaming down her face. My heart was racing, almost tearing itself out of my chest. She never wanted to talk to me when she was crying, unless…

“Hey,” she whispered, through sobs.
“What’s wrong, babe?”
“Don’t do that! Don’t make me feel guilty!”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Dan. I don’t love you anymore.”

…and my heart seemed to stop.