When he leaves you, he’ll say it’s him, not you, because if he uses a cliché, he won’t have to hurt you with the truth. And you will take it as the truth because if it’s you, not him, every tiny affection in your history will become redundant. You can tolerate his leaving, but not the annihilation of all your memories.
You’ll think of how he adored you at dawn when the sun played just so against the gold in his eyes. You will wonder if he really felt that way, and suddenly, his leaving will become intolerable. The trouble with dead romances is that they pollute your self-worth, so you’ll cut and colour your hair because it’s a cliché and there must be some value in it.
“He doesn’t know what he’s losing,” your friends will say, and you won’t believe it because it’s just a stupid, meaningless trope.
One day you’ll go to bed crying because he sends you a text about meeting for coffee and staying friends. This will sound like hope, so you’ll set all your thoughts down as though it’s some kind of cure. If you use all the right words in their perfect and proper order, he’ll decide he still loves you as much as he did five years ago. You must believe that words have magic in them, or the tears will start again.
Your mother will tell you this breakup is for the best. She’ll even believe it. You won’t, so you’ll drunk post your newfound pessimism all over your Facebook wall, but not before finding his new relationship status in your feed. You’ll watch When Harry Met Sally and convince yourself he’ll come back to you at a New Year’s Eve party three years from now.
He’ll get engaged. It won’t be you, but he’ll send you an invitation to the wedding. You’ll wonder how it all happened so fast, and then you’ll block him for the fifth time since he left and fire up your dating profile.
You’ll fuck too many strangers because a thousand rom coms suggest it’s the best way forward. It won’t be, so you’ll throw that cliché into a box with all the others and burn them. Then you’ll choose a new way forward: Your way.