by Kara Gillies
but I am breaking up with you. It is not because we have wildly divergent aspirations, although your dream of a monster mansion and burgeoning bank balance conflicts with my minimalist style and critique of late-stage capitalism; nor is it because we have different tastes in movies, with you fueled by endless remakes of the Fast and the Furious while I snuggle in the comfort of Hallmark holiday specials, even in the Spring. It is not at all because I favour sleeping on my own, star-fished across the bed’s full breadth, not coveting half the covers at 3 am. It’s not because I am tired of picking up your discarded socks or half-drunk cups of coffee or fragile self esteem. It is not because I found a crisp business card tucked into the inner pocket of your grey suede handbag embellished with a handwritten number that I did not call and that was not answered by a woman with a voice like 30-year-old Scotch who stumbled when asked how she knows you; it is not that this bombshell ignited memories of my mother yelling at my father through tears and smashed plates and slammed doors, one of which did not hit his ass on the way out; and it is certainly not related to my therapist’s assertion that I have an avoidant attachment style and tend to walk away from conflict.
It is simply because I feel I am too young for this commitment and have decided to keep my options open.
Kara Gillies is a former sex worker and current non-profit leader in Vancouver, Canada. She is new to creative nonfiction and is dipping her toes into micro and flash.
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