I don’t think you ever truly know when something great has ended. Because great things take time to become great. It’s a slow burn until one day you wake up and realize how great it really is, and you know life would be hard without it. It took 7 months until the first “I love you.” But I don’t think it took 7 months for the “I don’t love you anymore.” I don’t know how long it took, actually. I can’t remember when we started to drift, but each day felt like a piece of me was leaving, too. That’s the worst part about losing someone you love by choice and not by death. The grief you feel is worse simply because it was a choice. Someone _chose_ that they don’t want you anymore. You’ve lost something you’re so desperate to get back and there’s nothing peaceful you can say like “they’re not suffering anymore,” or “they’re in heaven now.” At least that sort of grief comes with the comfort of knowing it was bound to happen regardless.

But this.

This grief is different.

Because what could you have done differently to save this person you love?

Feeling the person you want to spend the rest of your life with start to slip from your fingers.

Not hearing them laugh at your jokes anymore.

Spending weekends apart.

The quiet dinners.

The sad smiles.

Dull conversations.

_Strangers._

__

Where did it all go wrong?