"What are you thinking?"
We're sitting at a wooden table, located at the far corner of my favourite coffee shop, which has the best moccas and cherry pies in town. He's obviously talking to me but I find it hard to answer, so I pretend not to be listening and further pick on my cherry pie.
"That pie is suffering," he says with a forced smile.
I give out an unreasonably loud snort and let go of my fork. His coffee is finished whereas mine is untouched, getting cold. I don't know what I'm thinking. I'm mostly "not thinking". I find that "thinking" at this moment would make things worse, because I would start digging our memories and try to figure out what went wrong. Then I decide maybe he can help me with this: "Why are you dumping me again?"
"I am not dump... It's not like that. You know it's not like that Tess, it's just that..."
He's struggling for words, but he knows damn well that there are no good words, symbols or allusions for it. He's dumping me, for good.
I don't mind being dumped, even though we've been together for three years, six months and twenty-two days, I really don't mind. The "not knowing" part is killing me. I always knew we wouldn't last forever, but I always knew there would be a good reason for our breakup. A huge fight, with stuff throwing at each other and everything. But here we are, at my favourite place of all times, sitting at our special table, having our "usuals".
Nothing makes sense, really, so he might as well use any word for it.
As he keeps on mumbling reasons and apologies and stuff, I realise there's no point left staying. Life has to go on at some point, right? So I call on for a waitress:
"Check, please!"
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