Unsaid Things by Sara Travis

Love was easy in the beginning. Like a beautiful spinning top, it whirled gaily and exhilaratingly fast, mesmerising everyone with its loud melody and pretty, gaudy blur. We fell hard and fast. Picnics in the sunshine. Walks along the seashore. Late night movies, back-seat passion Idyllic. Fresh. Exciting. Perfection.

But then the spinning top started to slow, and we saw exactly which shapes and hues were there, and suddenly we were uncertain whether it would tumble and fall, or keep on spinning gently and steadily forever.

Now we sit at opposite ends of the sofa, and the distance between us is full of the things we don’t say to each other. I’m not happy. This isn’t working. I don’t feel the same way about you anymore. We’re not right for each other. Please, let’s end it.

He reads the paper. I paint my nails. He sighs, and stands to stick the kettle on.

‘Love you.’

‘Love you, too.’