The Dimmer Switch: Falling Out Of Love

July 1, 2018 2 min read

The Dimmer Switch: Falling Out Of Love

July 1, 2018 2 min read


Falling out of love felt like the flick of a switch, but in reality it’s more like the gradual turning down of a dimmer.

Things start brightly, so brightly. Your sun is shining with such veracity that it illuminates even the gloomiest nooks and crannies of your heart and soul and suffering. It burns, gloriously, and you think to yourself that something this bright will never be dulled.

But even suns die, eventually.

What if there is no implosion, though? Or explosion, or black hole of disaster? What if it’s more like bits of you fall away, lose saturation, and your love becomes ashy embers of the fire it once was?

What if the dimmer switch turns so slowly, you don’t even notice – until suddenly you’re in darkness and have no idea how it happened?

It felt like the flick of a switch. It felt like one day I was happy and then one day I wasn’t, and no amount of rumination or talking myself out of it was going to change the fact that this time was different.

It was inevitable and yet impossible.

What had triggered the blackout wasn’t a switch being flicked, but in fact the glow that had barely been lingering had finally been extinguished.

It had turned from a beautiful romance to a beautiful friendship, and the light was finally out.

And so now, I’m sat in darkness. Frozen, like when you’ve been focusing on something so long you didn’t notice the sun going down.

The light is gone, fully dimmed, and my torches are out of batteries. We have no matches, no candles, and so are stumbling our way out, hands outstretched, each trying to avoid bumping into the other.

We’re feeling our way through unknown territory, desperate to find the door handle but also taking our time. Pretending to have lost the key whilst hiding it behind our backs. Because once the door is open and we let the world flood back in, we’re actually saying goodbye.

The light is out, but can’t be unlit.

When the sun sets, you don’t forget the warmth it left on your skin, the way it burned and the shadows it cast around you. I won’t forget the way he changed me for the better.

The light is out, but we can’t unsee what it showed us, even if we wanted to.

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About Me

Hi! I'm Sophie.

Writer, thinker, often overwhelmed.I like to talk about film, feelings and feminism. Not necessarily in that order.

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