Breaking Up
Yeah, I don’t think I want to see you anymore. You don’t really need me and I’m kinda intimidated by your real job. I’m not gonna do that whole let’s-see-other-people thing though…that leads to all this fucking crying and I end up feeling like a total dick.
Instead I’m gonna just quietly withdraw and stop responding to your texts, occasionally emerging from the ether to send you cryptic, apologetic emails about my current bout of episodic depression. I’ll use figurative language like “buried under life” or “in a cocoon” or “I’m a fucking trainwreck” and make increasingly vague references to hanging out in the near future. Then you’ll have a chance to get used to the idea of not having me in your life as I gradually fade into nothingness. (True, one time this chick sent me an email after I ghosted telling me she was all bewildered and furious, but she was crazy possesive or some shit.) That way when I finally run into you at Brooklyn Bowl and I’m with my new girl (the one I started hanging out with when I started sending you those emails—chyeah, I dovetail babes), everybody’s cool.
Really, this is better for everybody.
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