By Moss Ruskin
I let go. But he let go first. I think of the words I said that marked the end with a bruised tongue.
I sat on top of him and held his face close to mine. His tears were rolling in between my fingers and his cheeks. They loosened my grip and when he shook his head, it was harder to hold on.
He said, “You don’t love me the way I need you to.”
Months later I sat across from him on the bed that held us through our entire relationship.
I said, “I don’t know how to be happy. I don’t even know what happiness is, really.”
He said, “Well, you know that’s not what I need right now.”
I left. I drove. I heaved. I woke up. I drank. I hurt -myself, for hurting him. Continue Reading…