Prompt: Write a story about someone's ex

He knew about the relationship with my mother. The way I loved her and felt close to her despite the pain I felt by her inability to see me. I knew about his relationship with his father, a man whose misery sometimes mirrored his own; they were two men trapped within the confines of their own minds. Stars were overhead and we lay side by side on the grass as we asked each other if we thought we’d leave the world with less regrets than our parents did. Neither of us had an answer.

We often had conversations like this—heady, self-conscious, questioning. Walking through Prospect Park, he asked me how I could believe in a god. Sitting on my couch after watching “Drive My Car,” we discussed our own feelings of disillusionment and questioned if there was a way to break through the monotony. Lying in bed, he confessed he wasn’t sure if he had ever truly been happy, describing a numbness I too had known well. For Christmas, he’d gifted me “The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”

We always saw each other, he and I, understanding the darker side of each other’s minds even when we wished we didn’t.

I scrolled through my recent phone correspondence with him. A ‘happy birthday.’ A ‘merry christmas,’ five days too late.

We had been able to see each other through our own hurt and mess until a line was crossed. I’d felt so certain I was right in my approach to the situation, towing a moral line my therapist confirmed was aligned with my values. “You bring out the worst in each other,” my friend had said.
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Yet I could feel his pain and fear when things finally ended. He’d retreated into the mind he’d always felt trapped by. My own resolve to keep him at an arm’s distance was starting to fade as I questioned what moments I would let define him.