He called me while driving through the countryside. On that Saturday evening, my spirits were low; we had been fighting. When his phone number flashed across my screen, I quickly answered, ready to apologize.
There was a long silence. The quiet on his part was so profound that the sound of his car’s stereo, playing ‘Lost on You’ by LP—a song once dear to both of us—filled the void.
“When you get older, plainer, saner
Will you remember all the danger
We came from?”
The silence became excruciating. “Hey… You know I…” I began.
But before I could finish, he interrupted, “I think we should end this… It doesn’t work.” The weight of his words hit me hard, and pain surged through me.
“Are you breaking up with me?”, I asked, disbelief evident in my voice. “I’m sorry we’ve been fighting, but we can work this out, right?” Tears welled in my eyes. “…Right?”
“I don’t think this works… I’m sorry. We’re not good for each other,” he said, his once tender voice now cold and clear. “I shouldn’t have started this relationship. I was lonely.” Each word stung like a fresh wound.
This was the man I had imagined spending my life with. It was crushing to hear him suggest that our relationship was born out of convenience. I don’t recall much of what followed during that hour-long call, only my own tears and the haunting refrain of “Lost on You.”
Fast forward three years. Those painful memories resurfaced as my current boyfriend and I drove to Hong Kong airport one Saturday evening. The radio played ‘Lost on You,’ coincidentally amplifying the tension between us after a recent argument.
“Burning like embers, falling, tender
Long before the days of no surrender
As the lyrics played, I was transported back to that agonizing phone call. Tears streamed down my face.
Sensing my distress, my boyfriend reached for my hand. “Hey… you know I…”, he began softly, “…I’m sorry… We don’t need to fight. Don’t cry.”
He didn’t realize my tears weren’t about him, or even about us. They were shed for a past love. My remorse, combined with his comforting gestures, only deepened my pain. Outside, rain lashed against the windows. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up, much like my own efforts to keep my emotions in check.
“I can’t do this… It doesn’t work…” Overwhelmed, I sobbed, “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have started this relationship. I was lonely.” My confession visibly shook him.
“Are you breaking up with me?”, he asked, turning to look at me, his eyes filled with disbelief.
I feared our conversation would mirror that of the phone call three years prior. But suddenly, blinding lights pierced the darkness. An oncoming car, in our lane, hurtled toward us. The screeching of brakes and the deafening collision that followed shattered the night’s heavy silence.
In the aftermath, I realized the driver of the other car was hauntingly familiar—my ex-boyfriend. Both cars were wrecked, and everyone was injured. As I struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation, my current boyfriend, bloodied and in pain, whispered, “Do I deserve this?”
His words faded as ‘Lost on You’ blared from the car radio.
“Hold me like you never lost your patience
Tell me that you love me more than hate me all the time
And you’re still mine”
The next thing I knew, I woke up in the car, with the song playing softly on the radio, my boyfriend quietly driving us to Hong Kong airport in the enveloping darkness.