When You Know It’s Over

Sometimes you don’t see it coming. Sometimes it is a build up of little things over time, and other times it massacres you like a freight train. But when it’s over, it’s over.

I’ll probably just move back into my old place.

That was the start of it for us, I think. Neither of us fought back, insisting we should move in together as we always planned. We had become numb to our situation and circumstances. I still had a box of your stuff; I still had your key – you still had the key to my heart. But we chose to bury those things – we accepted our unraveling.

It’s over when no one fights anymore. When there is no fighting with each other and no fighting for each other. There’s just silence. It’s over when neither person wants to try anymore. No one wants to try to fix anything, work through the issues; when no one wants to continue to build upon that original foundation, that’s when you know it’s over.

It’s over when the intimacy fades. You stop doing those little things like kissing her forehead or laying out his favorite tie for him. And eventually those little things become the big things. And those original big things like the “I love you’s” and the “forever’s” – well, they are tossed away much like that favorite tie you no longer pay attention to. And when both the little things and the big things are long gone – everything you had built together; you know it’s over when that everything amounts to nothing.

You know it’s over when you start to forget. You forget how beautiful your experiences were in the beginning, how much you relished the scent of his aftershave blended with his cologne or how you adored how she would tuck her hair behind her ear, only to have those strands fall forward five seconds later. And then you couldn’t resist doing it for her – and she would look at you with that same look of adoration you had been giving her moments before. But once you forget about his scent and once you forget about her smile, that’s when you know it’s over.

Hey, can you pass me the salt and pepper?

Such a simple sentence, with such a complicated undertone.

But you know it’s over when you assimilate to a situation that labels you more as friends, acquaintances, roommates, rather than partners, teammates, soulmates. When you’re asking for that salt and pepper, but there’s no “babe,” “sweetheart,” “honey,” attached to the question. There’s just a hint of annoyance and irritation – one that you had never fathomed you’d reach when you first started out. Then again, you’ve already forgotten about the beginning. About the butterflies, the nerves, the excitement – you’ve forgotten about all of the unabashed affection and care that brought you together and in love in the first place. You know it’s over when the fondness dissipates.

It’s over when the amount of tears outnumbers the amount of smiles. When the realization hits that this is no longer working. That even the love you once had can’t save you now. When you love the other person, but are no longer in love with them. When the bags are packed, the suitcases piled, personal items exchanged, keys turned in, the goodbyes are muttered – that’s when you know it’s over.

Sometimes you don’t see it coming. Sometimes it’s because the little things become the big things, and other times it’s because you forget to see the beauty in the other person – you forget what made you fall in love in the first place, when the burning passions you had melt into fading embers. And other times it wears you out – a few too many miles on the heart. Words become weightless, actions become meaningless, prayers and requests go unheard and subsequently, unanswered. But no matter how it happens – when it’s over, it’s over.

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