I don't know. Honest.

“so be honest with me…” Never a good start, for any conversation. Honesty is dangerous, especially when you need to ask for it. “Why don’t you love her anymore?”

Ah, that old chestnut. I did, to tell the truth. A short while ago I would have done anything for her. literally anything. Now though…

Now life is different. The one thing I don’t feel for her is love. Why? That is a long story.

I promised myself, long ago, that if ever I went through what is known as a “bad” breakup I would not allow my excess emotion to turn to hate. Any seperation results in a plethora of passionate emotion with no further application. I would remain calm and controlled, not allowing the love to sour, but simply fade.

Two months later she called me childish. Why? For no longer altering my life to suit her needs. That is the point at which love died completely, and anger was born. Do I tell my friend this? Could he ever truly understand?

“I don’t know, really. I just… don’t.”

Honesty is dangerous.

This story has no comments.