Was It Really Love?

My ex is in a relationship according to the Facebook.

Faye laughed and assured me it’s a joke.  I don’t know what to think, but seeing his updated status forced me to deal with the fact that he may have moved on. 

I guess my reaction was too nonchalant, because Faye proceeded to tell me that I have no soul, show no emotion, and when I do it’s usually in a fit of rage directed at a driver who forgot to turn on their indicators.

I have a soul and emotions, I just choose not to display them for the entire world to see.  Instead I write and display them via internet.  Go figure.

She constantly asks me do I miss my ex. 

I don’t. 

Being without him feels the same as being with him.  I feel nothing.  There is probably a huge problem that I don’t miss him.  Even more of a problem that I withheld sex for 6 months and within a month of the breakup fucked another dude.  Not to mention, I’m emotionally attached to Deondre and have been for more than a year.

But the thing is, I don’t even feel bad.  Maybe that’s why Faye believes I have no soul, but what should I feel?

She text’d him a few days ago and he didn’t respond.  She was pissed and asked, “How can he ignore me?"

I don’t get it myself.  How can he erase us from his life as though we don’t live in the same apartment complex?  He still talks to my mom but has cut me out of his life completely.  On the other hand, I don’t expect nor want him to call.

The problem I have with breakups is how weird things become.  After the arguments, after the final conversation, after the boxes filled with belongings are dropped at your door, where do the memories and promises go?

Where does the love go?  It makes me wonder was there really ever love.  Did I create the fallacy of love as I did my multiple orgasms?  And if I didn’t love him, did he know? 

Shit, did he even love me? 

To think about it, all my exs have disappeared after the breakup, and our love (well actually their love) is nowhere to be found.  I guess the love couples have for each other doesn’t disappear it just transforms.  Its found in the damage to your car when she keys “Fuck Ass Nigga” in your front door and covers it with white out.  Its found in the 30 messages a day he leaves on your voicemail begging for forgiveness.

My love, our “love” is buried under a mound of personal denials.  It’s trapped between new Facebook statuses and purposely-unanswered texts.  

But if love can morph that easily into a restraining order or black eye, why the hell are people vying so hard to feel the emotion? 

If love cannot remain constant, if its shape is forever changing, if it can be transferred from one person to another within a few months after a breakup, is it really love?