A New Year’s Eve text from a former flame got me thinking about the ways in which people botch break-ups left and right, time and time again. No, you cannot be friends. No, you shouldn’t check in a few weeks after. Hell no should you have break-up sex, relapse sex, drunk dial or text. You definitely don’t call a few weeks/months later when single life has you down and the familiar starts looking pretttty good.
If and when your affection for a significant other wanes to the point of no return, there’s nothing kinder than a full swing of the axe. One conversation, in phone or in person. Sounds harsh but it’s not, in the long run at least. By the time a break-up comes around, the other person has an inkling that shit’s not right. They may not dare say it out loud, or follow the entire train of thought, but it’s there in their gut, a flutter, a tug, a tiny, painful knot. And I practice what I preach, so I know how hard it is. But really, what’s there to talk about? I like you, you don’t like me. I used to love you, I don’t anymore. We love each other, but we want different things, and one of them isn’t change.
And that’s it. You do the person you still care about a huge disservice by not removing yourself from their field of vision entirely, and fast. When in doubt, put that phone phone, close that computer screen, and get on with both of your lives. Try an activity. Like reading. Or curl up in bed, Elle Woods-style, eating bon bons and shouting Bebemuchachas’s mantra, “LIARS!”