This is how we will leave each other.

You will leave at 10:13 on platform 12, seven minutes before you have to catch your train back home. I will have knots in my hair and will be wearing the same clothes from last night, because we would have ran out of time in the morning to shower or tidy ourselves up.

I will try to tell you all the things I have kept inside of me, but my aptitude for words will be falling short. Instead, we will talk about the weather and how you hope the train won’t be filled with people on their morning commute. The unlucky vowels that I had chained together during our car ride will stay tucked away under my tongue, and will be washed down with the strongest coffee that the barista had to offer at the petrol station. I will jokingly ask him if coffee can wash down the shame of being cheated on, and he will reply that tequila works best for that.

I will leave you with the brightest smile that I can craft, parting you with the illusion that my heart isn’t breaking into a thousand pieces. I will think how the fragile pieces shine like the reflective glass in the concrete mixture on the floor. I will keep looking at them while you go through the checklist of things you need to bring. I will note how I am not on it and feel the cracks under my ribs escalate with every beating pulse. I have every right to be angry, you will say. It is as if validation can only be granted with your signed approval and charming smile. I will focus on counting the glittering particles and wait for acceptance to wash over me. I will pray that it’s on the next train coming in so that I can leave with more than what I came with.

I will leave you with the heartbreak that has folded itself inwardly with unforgiving heaviness. I will feel tiredness in every limb that begins from the chest and escalates to my toes. Even my words will seem dull and dry, and I will not know how to make them sound exciting or beautiful like they use to. Maybe that’s what you thought of when you kissed her; how her words shined so brightly in that dark bar and how her voice coated every syllable with an enthralling allure.

Looking at my words hurt my eyes, because they now exist with so much madness and disappointment that I feel like they are judging me for being such a poor host to them. All that is pouring out of my fingertips are harsh arrangements like ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘betrayal’ and a couple of ‘what the fuck’ with too many ‘why the hell did you do that, you asshole’. Those are just a few examples of the words that I want to throw at you.

The ability to write delicate pretty words will be put on the back burner, because I have lost the ability to string together flowing lines on how much I loved you. I wanted to remind the world that I had never seen such bright and promising eyes like yours, but the world no longer needs to hear them. So I will follow the barista’s suggestion and begin my search for too much tequila with my roommate.

I will learn to live and let live, just like how you once whispered into my ears as we danced at your sister’s wedding in October. I will remember that it is your loss and that you are missing out on the fullness that only I can offer you.

I will leave you with open palms and my head held high to the summer sky. I will leave with grace and integrity that you lack in both virtues and morals. But most of all, I will leave you with the certainty that I will one day feel love in my ribs for another boy who will think that I am more than enough. I will leave you because I deserve better than anything you can offer, and the two other chances I gave you were twice too many.