7:00 am.
I squinted against the sunlight streaming through the window before reaching out to turn off my phone’s alarm.

One month, two weeks, four days.
I rolled over in bed, trying to get the blood flowing. The mattress now felt oddly larger than it used to. Like the days before, I unlocked my phone and went straight to my messaging app.

Nov 04, 12:09 am
I’m sorry. Please, can we talk.

Nov 04, 12:19 am
Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry. Let’s figure this out.
Please, please, please talk to me.

Nov 04, 1:20 am
(Audio call. Tap to try again.)
(Audio call. Tap to try again.)
(Audio call. Tap to try again.)
(Audio call. Tap to try again.)

Nov 04, 1:29 am
I tried calling you. Are you asleep already?

Nov 04, 8:12 pm
I went back to the cinema and watched the same movie from yesterday. I’m trying to understand if it upset you. Was it something from the film?
(Audio call. Tap to try again.)

Nov 05, 7:12 pm

I just got home from work—and your clothes and stuff are gone.
Please, let’s talk.
(Audio call. Tap to try again.)
(Audio call. Tap to try again.)
(Audio call. Tap to try again.)

Nov 05, 8:12 pm
YOU WANT TO LEAVE ME? FINE. DON’T EVER SHOW YOURSELF TO ME AGAIN!

Nov 05, 8:15 pm
I’m sorry. I didn‘t mean that.
Please, call me. Please.

Nov 06, 5:22 am.
Good morning, love.
I’ve thought about it, and I’ll give you the space you need.
Talk to me when you’re ready, okay?
I still love you.

Nov 11, 9:05 pm
I dropped by your house to get my favorite jacket—you might’ve taken it by mistake.
Your mom said you weren’t home, but your room’s lights were on.
It was just your sister there, right?

Nov 12, 11:25 pm
I promise you—I’ll change.
I’ll do whatever you want.
Please don’t do this to me.

Nov 13, 6:15 pm
I waited for you to greet me today.
My officemates prepared birthday cards and a cake.
You know what I wished for?
I wished you’d give me time.
I wished that that wasn‘t our break-up—that it would happen some time in the future instead, so I could at least prepare myself.

—
Nov 13, 6:44 pm
(unsent message)
Please, if you’re going to leave me—do it slowly.
Let me adjust to the days when you’re no longer here.
Let the visits decrease little by little.
Let our conversations go from daily… to once a week… to none at all.
Ease me into it.
So maybe then, it wouldn’t hurt this much.
Maybe then, it wouldn’t feel so suffocating—to wake up and live these next days alone.

Please… let me get used to living in a place where there’s no longer “you and me”… before you really leave me.
—

I wiped my eyes and blinked to clear my vision. The cursor blinked in the reply box. It had been blinking for awhile now. I stared at the keyboard, trying to gather the courage… to press send.