Dear Esther,

I just got back online after almost a week away, and the first thing I learnt was that you had unloved me.

I don't know whether to apologise for my absence or congratulate you on your emotional recovery. Perhaps I should have sent a notification before disappearing. Something like: "Dear Esther, I'll be unavailable for the next seven days. Kindly keep your love active until my return."

But apparently, love doesn't come with a grace period.

You said you have unloved me. And I've been trying to understand what that means.

Does it mean you woke up one morning and discovered that the feelings had packed their bags? Did they leave quietly, without disturbing your sleep? Or was there a whole meeting, a series of deliberations, and a unanimous decision to remove me from the position I once occupied in your heart?

I wish I had been invited to the meeting. Not because I wanted to influence the decision, but because I would have liked to hear the minutes.

I have questions, Esther.

When exactly did it happen? Was it a gradual process? Did you stop loving me one conversation at a time? Did my absence make it easier? Or did you simply realise that the person you once loved was no longer the person you wanted to love?

And what does one do with all the love that has suddenly become unemployed?

Do you return it to the sender? Is there a customer service department for these things? Can I get a refund for the affection, attention, silly thoughts and imaginary conversations I invested?

I know. Love is not a transaction. Nobody owes anybody a lifetime of affection simply because they once made promises or shared beautiful moments.

You are allowed to change your mind. You are allowed to outgrow feelings. You are allowed to discover that your heart no longer wants what it once desperately wanted.

I understand that.

But I wish someone would explain why understanding something doesn't always make it hurt less.

I have also been wondering whether I should start looking for the things I did wrong. Perhaps there were signs I ignored. Maybe there were moments when you were slowly withdrawing, and I was too busy enjoying your presence to notice your absence approaching.

Perhaps I should have paid more attention.

Or perhaps not every ending has a villain. Sometimes two people simply arrive at different destinations, and one of them gets there before the other.

Still, I won't pretend that hearing you've unloved me feels like receiving good news.

There is something strange about being informed that you are no longer loved by someone whose love you had grown accustomed to. It's like returning to a familiar house and discovering that the locks have been changed. You still remember where everything used to be, but you no longer have the privilege of walking in.

And maybe that's the hardest part. Not necessarily losing the person, but losing the little privileges that came with being loved by them.

The random thoughts you could share. The stories that didn't need an introduction. The silly things that were funny simply because the other person was there to hear them.

I wonder if you still remember those things.

Do you ever stumble upon something that reminds you of me and smile before remembering that you no longer love me? Or have you successfully deleted the shortcuts?

As for me, I am still processing the announcement.

I don't know if I should mourn, celebrate your honesty, or simply carry on as though nothing happened. Perhaps I'll do all three, depending on the time of day.

But I want you to know something.

I won't make you feel guilty for no longer loving me. I won't argue with your feelings or try to convince you that you are mistaken. Love is beautiful, but it becomes a rather uncomfortable experience when someone has to be persuaded to feel it.

I would rather be remembered fondly than be loved reluctantly.

And if you have truly found your way out of whatever we once shared, I hope the journey ahead is kind to you.

Just don't expect me to master the art of being unloved in one week. You may have completed your emotional exit, but I am still trying to understand the evacuation plan.

Until then, I'll be here, learning that sometimes people don't leave your life by walking away.

Sometimes, they simply stop feeling the way they used to.

And you have to learn to live with the difference.

Yours,  

The Boy You Unloved.