I have a theory on what our love looked like to God. So hear me out, this isn’t my usual litany of pretending to know what I’m talking about, I know you’re still waiting for that punch-line but here it is: two volatile things are placed on opposite ends of the same line. Call it the universe, call it a fucking puppet show, whatever you want. They’re desperately attracted to each other so they race headfirst towards the other. That collision is inevitable because they don’t know any better. When they meet, they ruin everything.
See, now our collision was a slow, careful one. We were always going to be a little bit broken towards the end of it all. We started off that way. Not because my dad left me or because you developed an alcohol addiction but because shit happens. It wasn’t earth shattering in the way that we thought it would be. So maybe I loved you and that was cool. Maybe you felt the same way. Maybe on Sunday morning we’d worship each other instead of going to church. You know, it could have been. The thing with the best times is that you don’t know what they are until they’re gone. It’s a shame like that.
Anyway, it happened something like this. The way you played around with your food before eating it irritates me. You stopped waiting for me to come home and began to eat dinner without me. We started sitting in silence that wasn’t comfortable. We put loud music on so we wouldn’t have to talk. It was all a very cruel lead up to the punch line. Wait for it.
Falling out of love happens like a gas leak. It seeps and slides and you barely notice it until someone strikes the match that they didn’t know would be the last one and boom. It’s all gone. We loved one day and didn’t the next. And there it is. That’s the joke, funny isn’t it? Ha ha.