I never was very good at it…
The whole love thing, like “oh honey, I miss you so much” or “I love you baby” or “you’re the best thing that ever happened to me!”
And that’s why you said it had to end.
Do you remember when we had those mock interviews at college? We were assigned different times, and we had to go up to the school advisor’s office for them. I was first up, and you wished me luck before I knocked on the door.
When I came out, I smiled and said it went okay, even though it didn’t.
The advisor questioned my lack of enthusiasm, and launched into her doubts about whether I was suitable for a career in law. I told her why I wanted to do it, and she ‘hmmm-ed’ and made doubtful noises.
“Are you sure there isn’t any other reason why you want to apply for law?” she pressed.
I hesitated before I said no.
She asked me to think carefully about my choice - law is competitive after all.
Then I went outside and waited until you had finished with your interview.
You came out with a huge grin on your face, and I could tell that you had nailed it.
“How did it go?” I asked you, even though I already knew the answer.
“Really well,” you answered, smiling at me. “She said she could tell how much I wanted to do it, and she wished me all the best with my application.”
See - that was the thing.
I was the one who wanted to do law in the first place. You thought it was a great idea and you decided to apply as well. We eagerly planned out future together - it was simple - uni, graduation, job, get married, buy a massive house, have kids.
And you were so good at the ‘I want to be a law student” thing, and talking came so naturally to you - so of course you aced the interview.
It was so unfair, the way you could just stroll in, and immediately, everyone would succumb to your charms.
And it’s so competitive - how could I be able to even dream of getting a place in law school if I had to compete with you?
And I was the one who came up with the law idea.
“Really,” I replied blandly. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, I know! I think I got my points across well - it wasn’t amazing of course, but it was good enough. How was yours?”
“Not as good as yours, obviously.” I said sarcastically. “I’m sure it was hardly as perfect as yours was.”
“Hey, what’s up? Why are you being like this?” you asked, surprised. I didn’t blame you.
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Really - tell me…” You put your hand on my shoulder, and you looked intently at me.
I shook your hand off, and stormed away.
“For Christ’s sake!” you yell after me. “What did I do wrong this time? You’re always like this - why do I even bother?!”
I spin round on my heel.
“I don’t know, why do you??”
There. I did it all wrong. I know I should have said “well done, that‘s awesome!” or “I’m so proud of you!”. But I didn’t
I just messed it up as usual.
My insecurities got the better of me. They always do.
We broke up two months later.
I never was very good at it…