Maybe we are never meant to notice, maybe our efforts don’t meet the required threshold or maybe we’re bound to live in the obscurity therein, find a plausible middle ground and hope for the best? Many a times you won’t be able to perceive it, and if by chance you do – it will be ambiguous. Either you/we are dumb, ignorant or just wired differently. You’re probably trying to wrap your head around what I’m talking about, that was just a preamble. The thing is; you’ll mess up, she will leave and you won’t see it coming.
Hypothetically; preliminary to you guys sullying each other’s reputation by hitting below the belt and playing it dirty, which for what it’s worth we enjoy, if the strife is hot enough we might bring popcorns to the bleachers and hear her say – ‘your tiny d***k is useless!’ As you counter with a hemorrhaging ego – ‘if you were a car, you’d be worn out, too much mileage’ not to mention that both of you had a thing for years. Before you are sent to the dog house terminally. Prior to you messing up for the umpteenth time and her releasing a 3 times Platinum studio album to vent (Lemonade, Beyonce) and you matching her artistic ability by releasing a platinum album (4.44, Jay-Z) trying to take responsibility. Her girl squad creating a whatsapp group to bash you or them promptly trying to find her a quick rebound, ever had the saying ‘you get over someone by getting under or on someone else’ Huh! Things ending more amicably – the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ type. Your 12.00 AM ‘emergencies’ creating a volatile tinderbox. Either of you going ham in an irate tirade on social media, like we care, alright yes we do like some tea (a little). The monotony of explaining to friends what happened, where you play victim whether true or not. If bad enough your car getting scratched or its windscreen smashed. Before the relationship morphs to sex-centrism. She stops wearing your shirts. Either of you ‘inadvertently’ snoops on the other’s phone for confirmation of whatever insecurity that binds. Heaven forfend it culminates at physical violence. Previous to all that drama and whatnot, you’ve already lost her – she is there but with enough scrutiny she really isn’t.
Legend has it, a hypothesis of sorts, that women leave before they leave – that she detaches emotionally then physically exit later. Which is most likely true, presuming that you’re the perpetrator. She will have left as she makes you pancakes, as you and your boys watch the game, as she takes the dirty socks you left on the mat to the hamper, as she calls you ‘babe’ or whichever corny names tagged upon, as you go to bed with her – Netflix asking if you’re still watching she’s gone. In all that normalcy chances are your replacement has already been lined up, he or she (well, if she decides to go and play for the other team which detriment your street creds ho-ho) is probably warming up in wait for the task ahead – stretching their muscles you know – just in case she comes in too hot. That’s why you won’t see her exit plan and continue peeing on the toilet seat as usual while she slips through the cracks then soon enough she walks out of the door. There’s little to nothing you can do then. Do you want to know the worst part? The rebound knew the D-day and prospects are you’ve met him, so I heard. The fat lady will sing and only then does clarity come.