I’ve been thinking a lot about love. Not necessarily what one would think about love, but what no one thinks about–err wants to think about, anyway: the end.
I haven’t been in a serious, committed, head-over-heels, you make me sick, inconvenient loving relationship since 2007. That’s right. It’s been almost a decade of weeks of dating men I’ve met only for the two of us to just say, “fuck it” and go our separate ways because God wasn’t finished healing us yet. And where I’m not sure I’m in a place to share my space with someone completely at the moment, I can’t help but think about break ups and how selfish they can be.
Break ups are selfish, you know? It’s literally one person deciding that they are done, and want to move on.
“This isn’t working for me. I need to do what’s best for me. I need to leave.”
This is frightening. I was told as you get older that you have less tolerance for bullshit, but no one told me that your heart becomes…hella sensitive. There’s no other smart way to describe it, but as such: hella sensitive. Where I realize that I’m too old to not be doing things, or surrounding myself with people who don’t make me happy, I can’t help but wonder about the other person. How can one just leave something they’ve built with another person? How can one just…just leave?