‘I want you to be happy.’
There is a specific kind of silence that fills a room before someone breaks your heart. Sometimes, it is not even a room. Sometimes, it is a phone call. And somehow, that feels worse. Because all you have is their breathing. Their pauses. The terrifying softness in their voice. Then they sigh. And your body knows before your mind catches up. Your throat tightens first. Then your chest. Then your thoughts begin scrambling for kinder explanations. Maybe that’s not what they mean. Maybe they’re overwhelmed. Maybe in the next five seconds, they’ll laugh and say, “I’m joking.” Even though you already know that kind of joke is expensive. Still, a part of you waits for it anyway. And then: “I want you to be happy.” As if happiness has ever survived a sentence like that. Because surely this cannot be happening. Not now. Not after you let them into your world so completely that even ordinary things began to feel softer with them inside it. Music sounded fuller. Colours looked more alive. ...