The Party’s Over

So my phone rings and it’s my girl on the other line crying hysterically. Seems she and her man (that she shoulda never been with in the first place) have broken up. I sent and listen to her cry and vent. I realize my role in this is just to listen and venture the occasional “mmhmm”.

“Seriously La, this hurts so bad. Will it stop hurting soon?”


Also, why have I suddenly become the authority of soul shattering, gut wrenching breakups? Boo bitches!

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t wanna tell her that a breakup can kinda be like a death; the loss will either make you better… or it could turn you into someone you don’t recognize.

So I lie.

“Yes. Just give it time. The pain will start to dissipate.”

She believed me.

She talked for awhile longer, eventually drawing herself into the resigned silence that usually accompanies great pain. She got off the phone under the guise of “going to sleep.” I’m wise enough to know “going to sleep” means she’s probably gonna spend the next 2 hours crying some more and rereading old texts, letters, and looking at pictures until she falls asleep. So I tell her I’ll sleep with my phone on my pillow.

You know, just in case.

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