"I have been feeling better."

Now that I was no longer around, she seemed happier.

"You must have a lot of time for yourself now," she remarked casually, as if my newfound solitude was a luxury I should relish. But the truth is, in the past two weeks, I've had plenty of time – too much of it, in fact.

"Must be having a better sleep, right?"

"You know I always liked being single," she continued to justify her newfound contentment without me. It's a painful admission, knowing that my companionship was never enough to fill the void she craved.

"Always caring about the other person; it's not for me." Never realised I was weighing her down.

"How is your performance review at work?"

The question hangs in the air, a reminder of the mundane aspects of life, hollow, devoid of any depth and connection; a feeble attempt.

"Are you finding time to work on ..."

Can she please just stop? Here I was, believing that if I worked on these shortcomings, probably we could work out and there she was..., reducing our shared history to a meaningless small talk.

Does she think trivialising it would help me with my nightmares? Each casual remark feels like a dismissal of what we once shared, reducing it to nothing more than a passing phase.

I feel disposable; just a placeholder she no longer needs when she has found solace in solitude.

How can everything be so fragile? All of the things we shared, every plan we had, means nothing. How fickle!

Does how I feel even matter an each? Why do you never need a consent to leave? Fucking hate this generation.