over coffee

One year, three months, and one week. The longest relationship I ever pursued. I loved him and he loved me, but we both knew, deep down inside, that we wouldn't last long. The love we shared was beautiful and tragic. We were always there for each other, even through the tough challenges we faced. He was supportive and protective and loving and caring and giving and just everything you'd want to see in a guy. But that changed, and I should have been more attentive. Today, two years after our breakup, I continue to have nightmares. 

Throughout the first year of our relationship, everything was normal. Cuddling, playful fighting, actual fighting, etc. But the remaining few months began to get a little absurd. I'll admit I noticed a sort of downfall and decrease in his livelihood. But I pushed it away, thinking it was nothing. It started to get worse; he seemed depressed. Every time I tried to ask him if he was okay, he'd shrug it off and change the subject. But he was a different person around me than around his family. He always acted super cheerful and happy toward his family, so they never really noticed a change in personalities. 

The day we broke up, I decided to meet him for coffee at our favorite cafe. As soon as he walked up with messy hair, dark eyes, and baggy clothes, I knew I had to approach the subject of what was wrong. We talked over coffee, but our conversations led to nowhere. "Okay, you need to tell me what's wrong with you. Why are you down? Are you depressed?" I asked. "Stop worrying, I'm fine," he muttered. That was enough to leave him alone. About ten minutes later when our mugs were empty he got up. "Where to now?" I asked. "I'm leaving for good. I'm sorry. But I think you should know, it wasn't me. It was definitely you," he said. I had no words. A simple tear was released from my left eye, and then a flood. That night he killed himself without a goodbye.