The thing is, I still love you. That’s the problem. Because I really, really don’t want to.
We’ve been going out for about a year and a half now. And you love me. You love me more than I ever thought anyone would ever love me, and that is a beautiful thing.
I don’t love you like you love me.
No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Not really. It’s just a matter of incompatibility that’s been revealing itself gradually over the last few months. The way you embarrass me in front of my friends, for example. I know you don’t mean to, but you have this habit of saying too much of the wrong thing. I can’t stand the thought of you being in the same room as my friends anymore. It embarrasses me in advance.
I love the way you hug me.
I love how we kiss.
I love how you comfort me when I need it.
I love how you help me out.
Whenever we’re together I feel a rush of warmth and wonder if my thoughts really are in order. Wonder what I’d do without you – who I’d update about my day, who’d miss me after a day of not talking.
But now we’re one hundred miles apart, and the truth is that I’m okay with that.
I don’t like how you spill my secrets.
I don’t like the immature jokes.
I don’t like how you follow me around at parties.
I don’t like that you have no sense of adventure.
I don’t like how you try to pick fault in everything.
I don’t like the way you think about women.
I don’t like how you’re not…dynamic. You have no stories. You complain a lot.
I don’t like that you refuse to grow up and face reality.
But what would you do without me?
That’s what I hate the most.
Without you, I’d cry and miss you and regret my decision and question my reasoning and despair at being alone again, but I’d always remember that Things Will Get Better.
Without me…I don’t know what you’d do.
I’m all you have. You said so.
I don’t like that responsibility.
It’s not a matter of if we break up, love. It’s WHEN. It’s when I pluck up the strength and courage and confidence that you’re going to be okay.
And I’m thinking it might be soon.
I still love you.