THE END AGAIN

I suppose I’ve been avoiding this post. Add another former boyfriend to the rap sheet. I’m single again.

And so the postmortem period begins. Cringe as “helpful” people say I’m too picky. Question myself about whether I’m even capable of a relationship. Quash that tendency to flash forward two or three decades: a lonely death, one of those awful stories you read about where the rotting corpse is found weeks later as neighbors in the apartment building report a foul smell.

Postmortems can get dark.

The morning after I broke up with Daniel, I logged onto Twitter and the first tweet I saw was a photo of two gay men hugging, the caption reading, “Celebrating 32 years together!” I smiled, genuinely. I even “Liked” the pic. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve long bemoaned gay men for being plagued with what I call the “Seinfeld” Syndrome, whereby perfectly acceptable dating relationships are ended for seemingly trivial peeves. Remember the close-talker? The author who didn’t use exclamation marks? The woman who ate her peas one at a time? (But, really, just imagine what would happen if she ordered a side of rice.)

I wonder if I am any better. Could I date a guy who wore Crocs? Or someone who pronounced huge as “uge”? Or a guy who turned his guest bedroom into a Britney shrine? Um,...no.

I had more valid reasons for ending things with Daniel. I swear.

Sigh. A failed relationship is still, well, a failure.

I’m slowly making my way through “Schitts Creek”—the show’s name put me off for years—and this week I crumbled as I watched the episode where Patrick gives David a monster cookie to celebrate their four-month anniversary. The gesture seemed juvenile and tacky to the worldly Rose family until David’s helpful sister, Alexis, explains that four months is a milestone: David’s longest relationship. Daniel and I qualified for a cookie moment. Heck, following established mathematical principles for rounding, I could say we lasted five months. That might have called for a large slice of peach pie.

Four months, five months,...rounded or not. Either way, not long. It’s about 1/77 as long as the happy Twitter couple. Daniel and I never even got to “couple”. Just boyfriends. Just dating. But still something. Beyond expectations, if I twist things a bit. (Really, it was only supposed to be a hookup.)

My last post about Daniel mentioned some tension over the possibility of getting a dog in the future. I’d written it a month beforehand. We’d already broken up my the time I put it on the blog. To be clear, I didn’t end things because of a hypothetical pet. While the topic ruffled me, I knew it was a subject too far down the line. I put it aside, telling myself that something else would end things before then.

Red flag.

It wasn’t just a case of chronic lack of confidence or a surge of pessimism. I just sensed that we weren’t the right fit.

I could back up my decision with a long list of reasons, but that wouldn’t be respectful to Daniel. That’s more the kind of thing I do after a single coffee date turns out to be a dud. It makes for a quirky story. Maybe I can even squeeze something funny out of my own misfortune. Oh, the hard knocks of being single!

After investing weeks and months with someone, it seems petty and undignified to list someone’s supposed flaws. Daniel doesn’t deserve that. There isn’t even some bigger issue that I feel is worthy of writing about, thinking that others might connect with the situation, feeling like I might be able to offer some grand insight about (short-lived) relationships.

Things just didn’t develop. My feelings never deepened. I have been lucky enough to fall in love four times in life and that feeling has always hit at three months, if not sooner. I was not in love with Daniel. I was not even falling for him, as people often say first, testing out the waters.

I stuck with things longer, knowing we’d had a wonky start since I’d fully expected to move away at the end of March. I could feel Daniel falling for me. He’d sometimes let down his guard and say how calm he felt around me, how connected he felt. It was nice feedback that only made me feel cold inside. Why didn’t I have anything to say in return? Why didn’t I have have the urge to buy him a greeting card or to even text something more meaningful at night than, “Sleep well”? I can’t fake a feeling.

Before breaking up, I drove up to Whistler for a couple of days. It’s one of my happy places. I thought it would mean something if I missed him. But that didn’t happen. I felt lighter, even a sense of relief to be on my own. The trip gave me clarity. I couldn’t stretch things out with Daniel. It wouldn’t be fair.

Alas, that whole happily-ever-after thing remains but a fairy tale. For me, at least. Right now, I’m okay with that. Let the whining and pining come later. (It always seems to resurface at some point.) For now, I can continue to “Like” other announcements of happy couples on social media while forking through my very own pie from the neighborhood grocer. They make mini pies and sometimes I’m good with being a “Serves 4” kind of guy. A perk of being single is having no witnesses to my weaknesses.