What do you wear to a heartbreaking?

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw.
Alas!

We were sitting down to dinner and I felt a strong need to make a drink. This is unusual as I've stopped drinking on school nights and, sadly, stopped drinking that much in general. I asked if he wanted a drink. I made us two wicked strong Jameson and gingers. Whiskey seemed appropriate for what I was about to do. I finished the first glass before I finished dinner and poured another. Part of me wanted to stay sober for this. I wanted to remain sharp and on guard. The rest of me wanted the warm comfort of Irish whiskey spreading through my blood, dulling the nerve endings so this wouldn't hurt as bad.

Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

We looked at each other. We talked about work, his martial arts classes, my training. Then we started talking about our therapy. His and mine. Separate from each other. I took a deep breath. I supposed that if this was an old black and white movie, I might be smoking. Since I'm not a smoker, the glass in my hand would be my only prop. I smiled to myself thinking of how it would be better if this was a movie. Someone else would write the lines for me.

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

There's never a good time for this, what I was about to do. One can never prepare herself for a heartbreak. I've been on the receiving end before, once, when I was 15 and hopelessly in love with my first boyfriend. I remember asking all the questions for which he had no answer. I remember all the sound leaving the room as he talked. I remember the numbness that took over after the reality of the situation began to set in. I know that I owe the Mr. more than what my awkward first boyfriend couldn't give me, but I understood so well, right at this moment, how he felt trying to tell me the words that would break my heart. Suddenly I felt sympathy for that boy whom I haven't seen in 18 years.

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

I told him as plainly as I could with the halting, jarring words that I knew would break his heart. I told him all the things I never had the courage to say, before now. I told him that I have been avoiding this for so long because I didn't want to hurt him. It was trite. It was unfair. It was cruel. It was the second hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

He was hurt. That couldn't be avoided. I cried more than I thought I would. Even though I don't love him anymore I would give anything to spare him this pain. To spare me the act of causing it. To spare us both from the process that is to come. Honestly, what I'm about to do scares me to death. I work part time. I go to an expensive school. I'm 34 years old and have never lived alone, never taken care of myself before. I go forward anyway because more than anything, I know that this is what I must do.

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
(T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men, 1925)