Post Nine. Bit of a rubbish one, this.

Hello there, dear reader person! And welcome to Post 9, where things get a little bit miserable. I’ve kept this post as brief and concise as possible, in an effort to save you from crying in a fit of depression. And, also, because I’m going on holiday in a couple of days and have to sort everything stuff for it.

As you probably know, I had been dating a lovely girl called Emily for a month or two, and things were going really well. But then they weren’t. And that was rubbish. This post is the sad part of the story, so I won’t hate you if you decide not to read any further; it’s okay, I enjoyed the good bits too. I promise I won’t hold it against you if you want to believe that the story continued the way it was going, in Fantasy Land, where Emily and I probably lived happily ever after in a house made of cake with forty babies and lots of money and not a concern in the world.

I thank you for your time, it did not go unappreciated. So long!

For those of you who want to continue onwards, to the Un-Fantasy Land (also known as ‘Real Life’), then follow me…

It was winter. Emily and I had been dating since late October, and up until now, it was brilliant.

 We met a few times before and just after Christmas, we exchanged gifts, and this is when I sensed some distance between us. It was nothing in particular; when we saw each other, it was still fun and we laughed. But something had changed.

Was it me?

Was it her?

I didn’t know. But after a short while of feeling like this, my fears were confirmed.

We arranged to meet in the West End on a cold Sunday afternoon. It was a couple of weeks into the New Year, and about 3 weeks since we last saw each other.

As it happened, we went to the same bar – and sat at the exact same table – as our first date. We spoke for a bit, but there was an undercurrent, something bubbling away between the lines.

‘I have something to tell you,’ she said. ‘You’re gonna hate me.’

Fuck.

‘I won’t hate you…’ I said.

‘Sorry, but, when we saw each other over Christmas, it was like we were just friends, I don’t think we’re really suited to being boyfriend and girlfriend. I’m sorry.’

Anyone who’s ever said ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’ is a vicious liar.

‘It’s okay,’ I struggled to say. ‘Well, not okay, but, well… You have to do what’s best for you.’

She thanked me for being understanding but don’t get me wrong; I was gutted. But it was also something of a relief. Like I said, things had been different for a while, so at least things were out in the open and we knew where we stood with each other.

My memory’s probably dulled a bit since then, but that was the gist of it. We said our goodbyes and that was that.