Afterwards, when all is said and done, people ask you when you first realized something was wrong. It is difficult to pinpoint the exact moment, because it is not so much A Great Big Bad as much as Tiny Little Things. However, it is not as difficult to recognize the pattern of how things usually go.

In the beginning, the “good morning” and the “goodnight” texts gradually fade away. The pet names disappear --- you are no longer “babe” or “baby” --- hell, you can’t remember the last time he called you by your name. (For some reason, this last fact cuts the deepest.) Furthermore, the two of you don’t talk as much as before, and it has been three weeks since you last saw each other. It’s not like you live ninety minutes to five hours away, or he has business on the opposite coast. Try thirty-five minutes across a bridge, and you are always the one driving.

A little monster resides in your head, and it refuses to stop gnawing at the bedposts. A heavy weight sinks in your stomach, and it is worse than any anchor. Little whispers linger in the back of your mind: that you are simply a placeholder until The Next Best Thing comes along. As if it does not make a difference that he is talking to you or kissing you or touching your body. Why else would he not say your name? Why else would, when he holds you, it feels like you are more Barbie doll and less human?

Your friends tell you the opposite. Your friends say that “his job is commanding, isn't it?” That he has his own life and you do as well. And so on and so on. Nothing you truly want to hear, because all of that is what friends are supposed to say, and what if it is all bullshit?

The little monster may simply be a bundle of fears and overthinking, and the sinking weight may just be anxiety --- but the girl whom he brought over for Memorial Day was definitely real. According to his best friend, anyway, who says he can’t confirm it, and that you did not hear about her from him. The bitter taste of being right lingers on your tongue like candy. (Sadly, you wonder if it is even worth the confrontation --- especially since society has conditioned it to always be the girl’s fault, and never the boy’s, and she is always overthinking, and she is The Crazy Ex for demanding to be treated with respect..)

In the end, however, this is all too much to explain. Same story, same outcome -- different person. So when people ask, you shrug, say that “It didn’t work out” or “Just weren’t compatible”. You drop vague excuses like spare change. With a pitying smile, the person nods understandably, and the conversation moves along.

So, wipe your tears and lick your wounds. Pick yourself back up from the muddy ground and dust off your clothes. Refuse to allow this incident to define you; refuse to allow it to turn your soft edges bitter and hard. Instead, take all the sweet kind love you are capable of, and carry on to The Next Best Thing, whom you will treat better than anyone before.

After all. It is all about The Tiny Little Things.