Maybe it is too late to take back what has been between them. It is not the words so much but how they were interpreted. And all the times in bed and out of it, when their timing was off. His reluctance for sex, her over-zealousness for it. His wilting penis, her dry vagina. They know too much about how they do not fit together. They know each others secrets, lack of energy, stretch marks, insecurities about weight and looks and performance. Each of them has held something up to taunt the other. Neither of them play fair.
They will miss the sex. She more than him. But still, some times, he will miss it.
She will miss the kissing.
He will miss being touched.
They would be happier if they did not part, but it is too late now.
He has made her feel like she is just someone to pass time with. She has made him feel like he is clumsy and inattentive in bed.
She shrugs. They never had enough sex anyway.
He shrugs. It's not like they were ever in a relationship.
They move on without knowing that this was the best they would ever be, this tug-o-war with such a sweet place in the middle where they found balance for a while. They walk away and it is all behind them, their best times gone.
But she is not to know. She wonders, briefly why she feels so hollowed out, but doesn't stop to contemplate it, there are things she should be doing and she does them with a strange empty echo in her chest.