Carefully considered.

There's this weird period in time, after a break up, where you go a little bit insane.  Or at least, you go a little insane trying not to be insane. Sort of like when you're caught doing something wrong, then you try to act natural, yet for the life of you, you can't seem to remember what you normally do with your hands when you're being 'natural.'

Things like when you're driving past their house on the way to somewhere (no, not cruising past their house every ten minutes or so, just genuinely on the way to somewhere), you can't help but look, kinda hoping that they'll be out front or something, just so they can see that you're doing just fine.

I think that's what it's about. Putting up a facade that you want them to see.

Like when, a week after a break up, you organise to go and talk to them, just so a few details (why, how, etc.) can be explained a little better.

Sometimes it's better to know those things. Sometimes not.

The preparations for that meeting can get a little calculated. I mean, there's a look you're trying to go for there, and so much you want them to know, just by looking at you.

You want them to know that your life is falling apart a little bit, but that you're doing fine. Or, I suppose, that you will be. What sort of clothes would you be wearing if that was the case? What sort of shoes communicate to a person that you're finding things a bit rough right now? What's the appropriate length of stubble? I mean, sure, you're going to be okay, but do you want her to think that you've got it so together, that you're clean-shaven and looking like you're ready to go out and meet someone else?

So you put more time into thinking about that than any rational person would, and then eventually, you go to have that conversation.

The awkward, usual pleasantries are exchanged, and then you jump right into the important questions. Or at least, the questions that seem important at the time.

"Do you love me?"

And she answers, but it doesn't really matter anyway; and while this is happening your mind is still stuck in the earlier insanity. Was an indie-rock t-shirt really the right decision here? Shit, you're hurting man, not about to go to a gig and rock out.

And she's explaining about the other guy, and you're asking whether she fucked him or what, and she she says that yes, they had sex, and even though this is all important, and you're focused on what's happening, there's that voice in the back of your head that says maybe the walking shoes were appropriate. You want to look like you're ready to move on, but not too fast.

You explain to her; angry, hurt, a little self-righteously, but never raising your voice; that she should probably say anything she feels at this moment, because you're not sure you'll want to speak to her again. And she says nothing, so you tell her goodbye with a finality she might not have heard and you leave. The door closes on her house, and that short chapter of your life, and it makes you feel sad.

And still, that little voice.

"You probably shouldn't have shaved your balls for this."