Her stomach swirled with knots as she listened to his voice on the other end.
He cheerily recounted the events of his day, oblivious of her nervousness on the other end.
She found it hard to pay attention when her mind was running rampant with mixed feelings. She tried to hold back interrupting him and blurting out how she really felt and everything she needed to see.
It's almost not worth the fight.
He sounded pleased with himself as he wrapped up his story. She had barely heard a word he said.
I need to tell him. I need to tell him that I'm losing it, that I feel like it's almost gone already. Things are different now.
But what was different? Was it her personal issues? Was it his personal issues?
All she was certain of was that she lost it.
It was the fear of losing someone. The realization that you've figured out how to live without that person.
What was there really if you didn't think you needed them in the same way? If you knew you could wake up on your own and it would still be okay?
Could you ever get it back? Was it the same as completely falling out of love?
Something had changed at some point. It was no longer the fear of losing, but the fear of the truth.