Like many parts of OP, the breakup was an amalgamation of different things I remember. The setting, the season, the car interior, the way I remember sitting, the way I remember him sitting, the direction of his gaze, my inability to look, the garbage, the car, the physical distance and the emotional distortion... it's all real. I wrote it down. What can someone do with all this information but tell a story? More to the point, what could I do? It's the only way I've learned to process it.
I don't know what the people who've exited my life think of my stories, if they read them. I didn't write them in the hopes that they'd ever see them. I just needed to write them, canonize them in a way, so I could move on to new questions, meditations, revelations, regrets. It gives me a feeling to reread the old stories, like the sadness and longing are still raw and alive inside of them. But they're static now; I can put them down and walk away.