You both tell each other it isn't the last time you'll talk, but it is. You tell each other the relationship might be over but you're still going to be the best of friends, because you both still need the other in your lives. And maybe, after some time, you'll even get back together. Neither of you realizes that you're both only saying this because you've only broken up a month ago and neither of you are over it. There's pain in every aspect of the conversation, so you say nice things to each other to keep the heartache to a minimum. And since there was no real offense that ended the relationship, neither of you really wants to hurt the other.
But you both hurt. There's a pain in a breakup that rivals any pain one can feel. When you date someone for as long as the two of you dated, two and a half years, that person grows on you to a point that you're nearly sharing blood and limb. The pain of being without them is otherworldly. It hurts so much you'll try anything on the end of any extreme. One of you leaves the country, goes to the ends of the world, literally, to run from the pain, but it finds you. The other tries to find comfort in writing, socializing, self-medicating. But there's no relief, for either. The only comfort is the voice on the other end of the line. The voice that has caused the pain is the only one that can truly quell it.
The conversation starts with two evenly depressed voices asking how the other is doing. And both voices lie in their responses. "Oh not bad, pretty good, actually". You both know each other too well, so the jig is up pretty quickly. Someone starts to cry. The other isn't far behind.
"God, I hate this so much, what are we doing? Can't we just pretend we never broke up and just carry on like before?"
" I know, this is awful. I just want to see you, to hug you, to kiss your cheek. Oh this hurts so much."
You both sob, knowing you can't turn back the clock, and a hug and a kiss and an apology can NEVER undo the pain. The wound is open and the scar will be there long after the wound is sutured, but it's open and bleeding right now. There's no escaping the pain. You cannot UNcut.
You both calm down and take deep breaths. One of you has began dating someone else. The other feels they have been bulldozed. The information comes with a biting sting. They act like its not earth-shattering, but it is. And after what few seconds of civility you shared, the other breaks down again.
"How could you be dating already? Who is he? Do you love him?"
"He's just different from you. That's what I need right now. He's sweet, he's got his stuff together. He's a nice guy"
The other wants to disembowel the "new" guy, even though he knows the new guy has no reason to show loyalty to the old, as he does not know the old guy.
Then the typical ex questions are asked and answered. She knows she has hurt you with the news of the new guy. So she starts to massage the sting away a little bit. She did not know you were going to react so painfully.
"No, he's not as big as you. You are still the best lover I've had. I don't know if there's a future with him."
You take solace in some of what she says but at the end of the day you know that when both hang up the phone she will have him to go to, to take comfort in, to have sex with, to regard passionately. She has plunged the knife in and has won this round.
The rest of the conversation is a whirlwind of emotion in which both of you, still strongly attracted to one another, take turns taking shots and following them up with relieving comments. You tell each other why each of you thinks the relationship ended. This starts an argument. An argument in which nobody is truly angry, just truly truly hurt. Blames are assigned, then redacted.
"THIS is why we ended!"
"No THIS is why it ended!"
Then more tears on both ends of the line.
Exhausting tears. You both sob with such power and heaves that it sounds like rolling thunder. Feels like rolling thunder. The pain so intense that it seems the crying isn't even serving as the proper outlet.
You both give in to the pain.
Six months, you both agree, is the next time you'll see if maybe there's still something in the cards for you. Six months. In six months you'll both know. You'll both be far enough removed from each other to know if you still feel that unconditional love you'd both shared before this whole atrocity began.
Six months.
You both set your internal alarms and wish the clocks would speed by in the blink of an eye. You're both confident in the end, that the two of you will live happily ever after...in six months. That life will start anew, pain free...in six months. That there's a light at the end of a tunnel six months away.
We'll talk again in six months.
But, you're both smart. Smart enough to know that, in six months, one will be in love with someone else the other will have no interest in someone whose expectations are so high for them. The voices on the ends of the line will be bereft of the pain that was once so familiar. Both of you will probably be better off.
But right now the idea of getting back together is so tantalizing that you talk about how romantic it will be.
"Oh my goodness, wouldn't it be so romantic if we got back together on January 7th? Our anniversary? Just like a fairy tale!"
And now you both feel it's okay to let the other one go. When five minutes ago, before the six month agreement, you were fighting so desperately to keep each other on the line. After every exit line, there'd be a silence on the other end, then a little bit of an exhale, then a beginning of a new conversation that one of you would create merely to keep the other on the line.
But now it is okay to let each other go.
You'll talk again in six months and you'll live happily ever after.
Or will we?
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