Eric

You didn't immediately notice how he became a stranger.
Previously, when asked "Are you coming soon?" he would write: "I'm already running, wait for me."
Now it’s just: “Coming soon.”

You were still living together: the same kitchen, his jacket on the chair. Only it was as if he had disappeared inside.

“Are you tired?” you asked one day.

• No.
• Then what?
• Nothing.

This “nothing” was more frightening than the quarrels.

You tried not to put pressure, then, on the contrary, you tried harder: you cooked his favorite food, waited for him in the evenings, clung to the rare moments when he was his old self.

But that evening everything broke.

• You haven't answered all day again.
• I was working.
  "I'm not asking you to write constantly. I just don't ask you to ignore me."
  He turned sharply:
• I don't have to report.
• I'm not talking about reports, Eric...
  — You're always asking for something. Attention, talking... I'm tired of it.

You froze.

• I just want you to be near.
  — I'm already close.
• No. Not anymore.

He looked at you and said quietly:

• Then why are you with me at all?
• Because I love you...

The pause dragged on.

• And I'm tired.

After that, he silently began to pack his things.

• Are you serious?..
• Yes.
  — Stay. Let's talk normally...
• We have already said everything.

The door closed quietly.
And that made it even more painful.