Era of the End

     "I'm having an easier time with it than I thought," she says either in an attempt to hurt me, or just because she doesn't realize it will.  Breakups aren't inherently painful, but trying to be friends afterwards is a ridiculous concept.  Friends can be lovers, but lovers cannot be friends. 
     I deserve the punishment, I ended it all.  I didn't do it willingly, she forced my hand.  Spending every night with another man, living with him while allegedly loving me is the lie I was living.  Finally, I came to my senses, and saved myself the hurt.  But now she's throwing it back at me.

"Good for you," is the best I can muster in any sort of reply. 
"My stomach hurts, my lunch date picked a place that doesn't seem to agree with me."

     The resounding impact in my gut must be similar to hers.  It's not been a week since I left, and already she's found yet another man to suck into her web of rampaging conflict and soul sucking confusion.  I left her to get away from this nonsense.  If I wanted to be forced to suffer I would talk to my family, or go to church.  This penance for ending my errors is a bit much.

     "Maybe you should lay down," I limply throw back at her in a thinly veiled attempt to end this conversation before she can further twist the knife.  I can't tell at this point if she's trying to hurt me, or if she just has a truly misguided concept of how to try to win me back.  Is she trying to arouse my jealousy, inspire me to jump at her, beg her back, and declare my adoration?  If so, her poorly designed conversation only serves to eradicate my affection, and she only successfully inspires bile.  If I were the jealous type she would likely have noticed earlier.

     "Yeah, I probably should before I head out home, I plan to go out with the ladies tonight, in that 200 dollar dress I bought for you."  There's no longer any confusion, and apparently she's spiteful.  I never meant to hurt her, and I never thought I would hurt, but now she's begging for animosity.  I'm in a place I never wanted to be, halfway between depression and rage.  Do I play her game?  Should I remind her that she could have kept me, that she threw me away and seek to show her that this is all her fault, that I don't deserve this?  Perhaps not, maybe I should just reply in kind, anger her, taunt her, displease her.   I can't bring myself to it.

     "Alright, I hope you feel better, talk to ya later." I take the high road, or at best the highest road I can find.  If I let her think this is nothing to me, she will burn herslef out with this rage.  Maybe she will find her true love in that little black dress that hangs oh so well on her nearly perfect frame.  I have no doubt that amongst her larger friends she will appear as a swan amongst vultures.  Coupled with the alcohol provided by the somewhat sleazy bars she frequents, she will certainly captivate and rouse a erotic response amongst her male counterparts.

     Blissfully this banter concludes, and I'm left pondering my fate on this Friday night.  Should I wallow? Should I follow her lead and look for the nearest replacement?  Before I make up my mind, I should probably find some midday snack, and maybe my evenings future will reveal itself to me, saving me the error of trying to decide my own fate, as I have failed entirely at that task up till now.

The End

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