It’s hard to tell someone you hate them when you’re not angry and nothing is currently wrong. Hate is not a thing that comes out in a calm voice full of poise and purpose. Hate is meant to be proclaimed with capital letters and at the tops of lungs.
So this was not hate, I suppose. This was more of a blossoming indifference – a flickering out, rather than a fueled flame. We lived together, but grew apart. It happened over time: I stopped loving him. I wasn’t angry with him (not all of the time), but I was nowhere near happy with the relationship I found myself in still – two years and an 800-mile move later.
It’s hard to move on from someone when you’re stuck in the same approximate physical location as the one you’re moving on from. It’s hard to tell someone you don’t love them without them thinking it’s a fight you want to start. And fights inevitably lead to “I hate you”s being shouted, and passion (seemingly) still intact.
Being with him was like moving slow motion in a car crash: feeling every slight abrasion and cracked bone, but unable to change the trajectory. So what have we here?