We started out and we were crazy about each other. She'd pay me visits at random times, and the times we spent together were sublime. My heart would race when I got a new text message. I became infatuated with things that I wouldn't have thought possible before. The color of her eyes, the curve of her back, the softness of her hands when she ran them over mine, the expression on her face when she kissed me. Her smell. They're all etched in my mind.
One day a friend told me to ease up, that I was being too affectionate, too happy to have her in my life, too overt with my joy. The advice felt wrong, but I trust my friends and their opinions. So I backed off. I let her be her, and I let her be the one to initiate contact, when she felt like it. It felt wrong, and I wasn't being myself. From that point on it was downhill.
I got a little suspicious this past weekend, when she blew me off entirely. Tonight we went to see a play at Southmoreland Park, and she invited her friends to join us. She didn't kiss me when we met after five days apart. By the second act, she was reading the paper on her phone. She was being rude and was unapologetic about it. She drove me home, and told me that she wasn't "feeling it," anymore. She then said she wanted to be friends. I told her it would be a while, if ever. She asked for a hug, and I found myself wanting to push her. She started playing with my hand, something she used to do as a sign of affection, and one that I always enjoyed a lot. I felt betrayed to have something that I thought so fondly about used as a means to assuage me. I pulled my hand away, fumbled with my keys, and went inside.
It would seem that the play was just an opportunity that she seized, to get the whole, "breaking up with John" thing out of the way, which apparently is something that she'd been planning on doing for a while.
The ringing in my ears is deafening.