The last to know

You smiled, but you were already halfway out the door. That killed me. You must have thought that you wanted to leave on good terms. But you moved like a thief in the night. I would have preferred you making a scene. I would have preferred you pointing a finger at me. How I was a bad boyfriend. How you could not imagine a future with someone who was lacking so much and in so many ways. I would have preferred it if you had shouted and yelled or went crazy. But you did none of that. You planned. You waited. You created a distance between us. Slowly. One step at a time. One day at a time. Until one day it felt weird to touch you. I felt the cold emanating from your body where once a warm heart was. I naively thought that you were – just like I was – tired of your…our everyday grind. So, instead of holding you tight and making you change your mind, I gave you space. I have regretted that many times in the years that followed. But, in the end, it probably would not have made a difference. I had already lost you. What stung was that I was the last to realise that.