It will start slowly, the way these things often do
It won’t feel slow; in fact, it will seem sudden.. you’ll wake up and look over at the space next to you and think that something must have snapped in the night.
But it didn’t happen there. It couldn’t have*
You’ve long since abandoned the possibility that anything could happen in your sleep.
It will happen in the absence, in the nights they spent with their friends and you with yours. It’s good for you, you’ll rationalize. Everyone needs to spend some time apart.
But time apart can tear you apart if you’re not careful, and slowly you will forget how to stitch yourself back together, how to return at the end of the day and fit yourself back into the crook of their neck, into the space between their arm and body like you never even left.
The hole you once occupied will close up slowly as you take more and more time to yourself, and it will begin to feel uncomfortable and tight and strange.
But we’re only human and we pick at wounds and scabs, and see wet paint and feel the irresistible need to touch it. Because we’re curious. Because we can’t leave well enough alone. Because when we see friction, we want to see the reaction.
When we fall in love, we don’t do it with an endpoint in mind, no expiration date on the horizon. To fall in love is to do the impossible, to promise the one thing you can’t really promise.