Fluorescent lighting and other tragedies
He wasn’t the one. Or maybe she’s just not that into you — and by she, I mean me.
Getting broken up with without having a say in it is brutal — but what’s worse is knowing, even as it’s happening, that it was probably the best-case scenario.
There was no big betrayal, no screaming match — just a quiet unraveling and someone deciding for the both of you.
And the truth is, I didn’t know how the relationship was going to survive either.
Still, it stung to be left before I could admit that out loud.
Either way, this is not a heartbreak story. This is exposure. Like fluorescent CVS lighting and a plastic basket full of makeup remover, nail polish, and Hostess cupcakes. Not tragic in a cinematic way—tragic in a “why am I crying near the impulse buy section” way. You get it.
I thought if I journaled it out, maybe I’d feel something. Some epiphany. Some softness. But what came out instead was this:
The Breakup Cycle
Day 1: What the actual fuck.
Day 2: Cried, ordered Dunkin’, tried to romanticize making my own coffee, ended up doomscrolling on the toilet. With said Dunkin from downstairs.
Day 3: Started a queer book my mom gave me “because it’s Pride.” Her words, not mine.
Day 4: Hanging out with friends while doing mundane tasks.
Day 5: Cleaned my space like I was being filmed for a documentary on minimalism. Burned the memory of his cologne out of my hoodie.
What I’ve learned is that a broken heart doesn’t always come with a lesson. Sometimes it just comes with clarity. He wasn’t here to heal me. He was here to reflect back everything I had been ignoring. He showed me what I’ll no longer tolerate, even if it stung a little on the way out.
I didn’t need to spiral or reinvent myself. I just needed to stop hoarding scraps of affection like they proved anything. I needed to stop trying to stitch a forever out of a maybe.
Breakups don’t always have to be processed like grief. Some are just a harsh light on a version of yourself you’ve outgrown. It’s jarring—but also, kind of a relief.
Not every guy is going to show up on a horse. Some show up with charm and a shelf life. And learning to walk away—even when you wanted to stay—only sharpens your boundaries for the person who can actually meet them.
And listen—dating right now feels like wandering through a half-stocked CVS at midnight. The pickings are slim, the lighting is unflattering, and you start convincing yourself that maybe off-brand mascara is just as good. It’s easy to start lowering the bar when you’re tired, when the apps are dead, when everyone feels emotionally constipated. But settling just so you're not alone is the fastest way to feel lonelier.
What I’ve learned is that my standards don’t bend just because I cared about someone. I want reciprocity, not potential. I want someone who follows through, not just shows up once. I’m no longer interested in managing someone’s inability to choose me. That’s not strength—that’s survival. I’m not afraid to leave something that doesn’t feel secure. I’m not waiting for someone to decide I’m enough.
Sue me—I want to be wanted.
But I’m clear now.
Still soft.