There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

Ernest Hemingway

He explained that there was not a shred of desire left within him. And if he couldn’t bring himself to show affection now, it had to mean he would never feel that way about me.

The chemistry that was once present had all but disappeared.

The only thing remaining was our shallow laughs. And laughter alone cannot sustain a relationship.

Perhaps all pleasure is only relief.

William S. Burroughs, Junky

He was right.

Take it from me, nothing says closure quite like getting dumped 5 days in.

12 hours later, my best friend was on a rescue plane pointed towards Jacksonville.

My wish for the world is that everyone in it finds a friend like Sami.

I spent the better part of that final day at his place filled with dread and adrenaline, as I faced what felt like two life-or-death scenarios: 1) flee the scene and leave no trace OR 2) stick it out until he got home from work so we could finish the conversation I started, and try our best at a proper goodbye.

For me, the worst part of it all was walking away still questioning whether or not we really gave it our best shot.

To me, it felt more like a guilt-ridden and pitiful attempt.

A half-assed Hail Mary.

But maybe that’s just because it wasn’t meant to be and it was over before it ever began.

Square peg, round hole.

The closer I look at the way things unfolded, the more I realize our expiration date wasn’t as abrupt as it seemed.

In reality, it was a slow fade. One that started long before I packed up my things and drove to Florida. 

I think deep down in the pits of our stomachs, we both felt it coming.

So, I’ll blame his doubts for amounting to more than he was willing to give them credit for.

And I’ll blame my hopes for amounting to more than my fear and better judgment.

I have never understood where the line is drawn between sacrifice and self-slaughter.

Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall

Part of me was blindsided by his lack of emotion. It was like one day he cared with his whole heart, and the next day–he couldn’t have cared less.

The other part of me wasn’t surprised at all.

Compartmentalization was not a new concept here and the longer I sit with my sadness, the less perplexing his deadpan handling of the situation becomes.

It starts to feel less like a loud crack of thunder, and more like a slow drip of the kitchen sink.

Always pity the thinkers, for they are cursed with their own imagination.

Atticus

Perhaps Grayson, of Savannah Georgia’s Fitzroy bar, said it best: “Congratulations for dodging that bullet. In 2024, we aren’t moving across the country for no man.”

Mic drop.

While doom-scrolling a few days ago, I stumbled across some sheer profundity that finally brought me to terms with the way things ended.

The post was brilliantly titled, supermarket sushi.

“Sometimes we fall into relationships because they look good enough. Because they’re convenient. Because there is no real reason to stop the series of events that quickly unfold into, “What do you want me to pick up for dinner?”

You care about this person. You guys get along. There’s trust. People are honest. You both love dogs. And from the outside, everything looks great. You like that. It means something.

But there is also something missing.

Not something obvious, like a tooth. It’s subtle, like an ache.

Maybe it’s a million little things. You can’t quite describe it. Or maybe you can, but don’t want to…”

Gotta love a good algorithm moment. And let it be known, this would not be the first time John Kim, the man, the myth, the Angry Therapist, has single-handedly saved me from a downward spiral.

He goes on to liken these lackluster relationships to store-bought sushi.

He says, “Sushi is not just about the food, it’s about sitting at the bar and toasting sake shots and joking with the chef as he turns food into art.

Sushi is about being adventurous, loud and drunk. Or quiet, candlelit and mysterious.

It was never meant to be taken home. Packaged soy sauce and plastic trays strip the experience and turn it into fast food.”

Thanks, Angry.

Truer words were never spoken.

John closes with a series of questions that led me to believe he HAD to be staring squarely into my soul as he wrote them.

“Is your relationship supermarket sushi?

Was it convenient?

Was it your attempt to satisfy a craving?

Does it look like it should, but not feel like it once did? Or not like you imagined?

Is it missing a “spark,” or chemistry, maybe?

Or did you let it happen because you didn’t have any real reason not to?

No one goes to the supermarket to buy sushi. They buy it on impulse. The colors catch their eye. It looks like something they had a great experience with once.

But if the containers weren’t clear, nobody would buy it.”

One of the very last things I said to him was, “I wonder where the lessons are in this one.”

In true Darian form, he pointed out, “Sometimes there is no lesson. Sometimes things are just shitty.”

I’ll give the realist in him that much, sometimes things are just shitty.

Luckily, the optimist in me isn’t walking away empty-handed.

I learned that some things are meant to stay and some things are bound to go. The tighter you grip, the faster they’re gone.

You have no control over the effort they put in, so don’t pin all your hopes on potential.

It is not love if you are the only one fighting for it.

The moment someone starts to believe they are wasting their time by spending it with you, is the moment you stop asking questions and start packing your things.

Eventually, you’ll get used to not seeing their name light up your phone.

Not hearing their voice.

Not feeling their presence.

Their absence will slowly start to feel less like a gaping hole, and more like a jagged edge.

Character.

And eventually, the ache will fade, too.

Along with all the sweet memories and tiny idiosyncrasies that made the connection special.

Next to go is nostalgia.

And over time, you’ll stop searching for answers.

You’ll establish a sense of peace amidst the loose ends.

And one day, you may even find someone new to share the songs, the memes, all the dreams, the howling laughter, and the random revelations with.

That’s love.

Loss.

Life.

And so, I’m down a retainer, a lover, and some gas money.

But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Close your eyes and think of love. First love. Last love. Makes-no-sense love. Love that makes you weep. Love that makes you soar. Love–in all its forms–makes life worth waking up to.

Meera Vijayann, How to Love the World in These Terrible Times

This ain’t no disco. Still, we dance.