The Breakup

It seems we will never understand each other.

You keep saying that you’re done, but you won’t let me move on with my life. Maybe we just have different definitions of the word ‘done’. You think it means that we can still go for a couple rounds, for old time’s sake, but I don’t have time. I have things to do, places to go, people to see. Yes, other people. I can’t keep staring up into your eyes, watching you lie to me. This is toxic. It’s why I put off seeing you for as long as I can, for weeks at a time, even as everyone around me tells me that I need to stop living in denial. You tell me that I’m pushing all your buttons, but then you throw a huge fit and tell me that I’m asking too much of you. I get on my knees and beg for you to listen to me, just once, and all you can do is sit there and stare blankly, finally telling me again that you’re done, that it’s over--that my clothes are dry.

Damp isn’t dry, though, babe, and I’ve been in this dingy laundry room for three hours now, while you yell and scream and make strange beeping noises at irregular intervals, and then insist yet again that you’re done. I stand as your door swings open, holding my breath, and then let out a sigh as a lone sock, still very much wet, drops onto my foot. I slam the door and start you up again, resigned to doing my homework by the light of the lone bulb. I can feel you smirking at me, happy that you’ve trapped me into spending time with you again.

You’re a dryer! You dry. It’s the only job you have. But the closest thing I’ve ever gotten to dry from you is when I pulled out every article of clothing and shook it out like I was trying to shake lunch money out of some poor bullied kid. All I had to do from there was lug my not-dry clothes up to my room and then plaster them all over my radiator to leave them there overnight. I woke up to dry clothes and a room that smelled so strongly of laundry detergent that for a second I was convinced that I’d somehow curled up inside you and gone to bed.

But hey, I guess it’s just the way it is--sometimes these things don’t work out. We just aren’t good for each other. I’m seeing someone new now, and he doesn’t lie to me. He’s a wire clothing rack, and he doesn’t mind if I keep him out in the hallway at night. He isn’t clingy, he doesn’t yell, and he waits for me to check on him and my clothes in my own time. He gives me space.

I’d say I hope we can still be friends, but I don’t--you’re terrible for the environment.

Good luck out there.