A breakup song on repeat—the chorus goes “Oh, God, where did I go wrong?”
I know where.
I’m sitting on the same couch.
I know the address.
I don’t know how.
There isn’t even anything to break up.
When we were questioned about what we were doing, I said I love you but have no idea.
I don’t know what you said.
It certainly didn’t sound like anything that indicated expectations.
Still, I asked.
I asked my therapist here first, for the best phrasing to use.
Are you upset because I made you feel like some other guy?
Because I talked to you like I’d forgotten who you are?
Because I brought what you already knew into the light?
“Do you have any expectations of me?”
Your follow up question, asking what does that mean.
“Monogamy.”
You said “You’ve ruined everything.”
That echoes in my mind.
Everything.
Six years.
Ruined.
Maybe you would have preferred I say nothing.
Maybe you would have preferred don’t-ask-don’t-tell.
Maybe you would have preferred I be someone else.
I wish I knew.
How.
—– —– —–
Ten days later, we talked. He apologized for hurting me, told me what had happened on his end, and things turned out to be fine.