I couldn’t make her understand. There were tears in her eyes. She did not want me here, pleading in her bedroom. She wanted me gone. But if I was here, then I wasn’t alone yet. We broke up before and we got back together. We broke up and we got back together for two years. But this tasted like the end, acidic in my throat. “How would I become the guy without the girlfriend?” the thought of it hurt. The suffocating idea of the loneliness crept around me as I wept out her door, down her stairs, home. That night ended. The lines I should’ve said to her rolled through my head like a twenty-four-hour scrolling LED sign. Then emptiness, rejected, cold bed, piles of laundry, stale air of never leaving the house, and so my life began again without her. I stayed busy. I called the buddies I’d neglected for years to be with her. We went into the unwelcoming weekend jungles of bars and clubs. We got drunk and rolled the dice, missing more than we ever hit. I played World...
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