The Crash of the Century

I am not crying for you.

I am crying because of you. What hurts is not the loss of a “lover,” but the loss of who I believed you were: a

friend, a confidant, someone to share moments, affection, and support with.

I haven’t slept for days. My eyes are swollen from crying. And I’m not crying out of sadness, but out of

helplessness, anger, and disbelief. Because until just days ago, everything was warmth— calls, tender

messages, kisses, plans to meet. And suddenly, I receive a cold, distant message, wrapped in a cheap excuse:

“I’ve been losing the desire to see you. Especially sexually, but not only that. I should have said it sooner, but I

’m a coward.”

Very often, we confuse affection with love. Affection is calmer, more stable, less impulsive. And it’s also

common to mistake the initial “honeymoon phase” for being truly in love. That early euphoria—full of novelty

and dopamine— leads many people to believe they are experiencing deep love. But when that effect fades

(often around the three-month mark), what remains is not always love. Sometimes it’s emptiness, routine, or

simply companionship.

Not a single word about friendship. Not a single gesture of care for the bond you claimed to value. No

acknowledgment of the affection, the complicity, the support I offered you. If you had truly wanted to preserve

the friendship, you would have known how to say: “I no longer feel the same, but I would like us to remain

friends.” That’s not literature. That’s basic respect.

What you did has no excuse. From the very beginning, I made one thing clear: if I had to choose, I would choose

a present, honest friendship a thousand times over before sex without soul. I told you more than once. I even

wrote it to you. You know it. And still, you chose to deceive me with kisses, calls, and tender words that you

now deny.

Why all that tenderness? Why daily messages, endless affection, calling me “my love,” if, as you say, you had

already begun to pull away? So, what was it? Were you pretending? Or was it real, but fear—and your fragile ego

— made it impossible for you to sustain it?

Because here is the truth: I was too much for you. My intensity, my lived experience, my way of feeling deeply

collided head-on with your inability to hold emotion. Not knowing how to handle feelings does not justify

playing with mine.

And there is more. After a long time of emotional solitude, you allowed yourself to be swept away by a

connection that frightened you. Bright eyes, endless caresses, promises spoken too easily— and later

reinforced with presence, attention, and tenderness. And yet you say you were losing interest? That story

doesn’t hold.

Now you say it was all too intense that you felt carried away. But what I see is someone who, when

overwhelmed, chooses retreat over honesty. You rewrote the story in a way that leaves you intact and casts

me as the one who demanded too much.

I am not crying because I lost you as a lover. I am crying because you shattered trust. Because you denied a

story that did exist. Because you left me questioning whether it was all an act— or something real that fear

made you abandon.

Either way, the result is the same: you deceived me. You made me believe in a magic you later tried to erase.

I am not crying for you.

I am crying because of you.

Because where there was tenderness and truth, there is now only a void filled with contradictions.

And that — is the crash of the century.

Originally written in Catalan.