For three and a half years I believed that either you were going to be the man I married, or you would be the first to break my heart. I was wrong about both. And the decision was my own.
When we hung up on Skype three weeks ago, I took a walk. I took a walk in the woods. And I left you there. I haven’t even cried.
The distance between us was the worst. Now that distance is my saving grace. I will never run into you at the grocery store, unable to avoid you behind a stack of fruit. I will never see you out with another girl while I make a desperate attempt to suppress my inner rage. I will never call you after a night out and leave you a teary, ten minute voice mail about how much I miss you. “Let’s catch up sometime over lunch” will never happen.
When you settle into your new job – or five years down the road when you realize that you would in fact be a fantastic father, you will miss me. You will realize how great we were, and you will want that. We made the worst parts of each other better, and you will regret letting me go. You will find all of that again. But not here.
I loved you. You challenged me, you inspired me, you showed me adventure. You loved me. You introduced me to the type of man I want to marry.
And so I will no longer wait for you, or waste my time wishing and wanting for things that you cannot promise me. Until – or if – our hearts collide again, goodbye.