Femme, Shock

Dear Butch,

I sat across from him, dumbfounded on how we got to this point.  My mind raced over our history; memories came to me in four picture strips from photo booths and familiar song lyrics that we danced to late at night.  Like a microfilm scrolling between the good and the bad and the somewhere in between.

How the hell did we end up here?

Sitting at the table that we shared countless late night taco dinners, the table he had taught me how to use a sewing machine, the table that I used to write blog posts as he looked across at me with a proud smile.  Here, at this table, is where it would all end.  His words were clear, but I couldn’t connect the letters with the meaning behind them.  Like falling into ice cold water, I panicked.  Feeling dizzy and sick trying to put the puzzle together that after two years together we were to be no more.

I knew that we had been shaky.  That the air between us had gradually become heavy with an unexplainable tension, but I never thought that we wouldn’t be able to make it through.  We had been through hell and back together, managing to fit almost every major life stressor in the two years we had shared together.  What we faced right now was a piece a cake, just new job jitters and exhaustion.

He and I were unstoppable.  A force to be reckoned with.  Together, we were a warhorse.

Or least so I thought up until a few moments ago.  Until he said the words that I never thought I would hear from him.  I shook my head, thinking that somehow I hadn’t heard him correctly.  But, his words were crystal clear and his eyes filled with so much sadness that I cried harder knowing how his heart was breaking as he was breaking my heart.

I wasn’t ready for this, I would never be ready for this.  Especially not at this table.

Love,

Femme