When I was young, somebody I loved very much broke a water glass. I went to make sure she was unhurt and asked, “Am I good?”
She said I was, because I rushed to her aid.
But I did what I did because I loved her very much, not because I was good. Now that I don’t love her as much as I used to, I no longer go, not even when she calls.
I like to think that no longer loving a person doesn’t mean I’m bad, but I can’t shake off the feeling that over the years, I’ve turned into a monster.