on post-breakup territory wars and becoming strangers with people we once undressed our souls with

No one warns you about the silent custody agreement after a breakup.

You get your side of the city. I get mine.

You get the bar near your place. I’ll avoid it like it’s cursed.

I get the bookstore downtown, but only before 2PM, because I know that’s when you usually go.

The mutual cafe? Dead to both of us.

We don’t talk about it, but we feel it.

And suddenly, we’ve turned a love story into a war over real estate.

We used to walk these streets like we were creating a world together. Now we’re living in the ruins, divided like ex-nations.

There’s no judge or jury…

But somehow, we both know which cafés are now forbidden, which parks are now sacred, and whose friends are no longer “neutral ground.”

And I can’t help but wonder why does a breakup have to mean a complete delete of the non-romantic parts of a connection?

We weren’t just lovers. We were people.

Friends, even.

We shared music, dumb jokes, late-night thoughts about the meaning of life.

We sat on balconies and talked about our parents.

We slow-danced in kitchens.

We cried. We laughed.

We knew each other.

So why is it that, after it ends, we’re supposed to act like we never existed?

Why is “just friends” seen as a downgrade, not a grace?

Why do their friends have to stop being our friends?

Why is it suddenly “too weird” to say hi without pretending like the past didn’t happen?

Why does the end of romance mean the end of all relating?

Maybe it’s ego.

Maybe it’s pain.

Maybe it’s our culture telling us to “cut the cord” and never look back.

But maybe, just maybe, we’ve forgotten how to hold space for nuance.

Maybe two people can love each other deeply, part ways honestly, and still care, without it being “messy.”

Maybe it’s possible to outgrow the role without erasing the person.

To say:

“I no longer want you as my partner, but I still respect who you are.”

“I won’t be at your birthday party, but I hope someone brings your favorite cake.”

“I’m not yours anymore, but I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m moving on, but I remember us fondly.”

We don’t have to vanish from each other’s lives like ghosts.

We don’t have to pretend it didn’t matter.

It did.

It just doesn’t anymore.

And maybe that’s okay.