Five years (and not counting anymore)

Exactly three nights ago, I ended a five-year-long relationship in the worst possible way. I almost opened my laptop to blog about it then, but decided I was too tired and went to sleep instead. I think that bothers me. Not the break-up, if I can even call it that, but the fact that I didn’t even flinch when I did it. “It’s over. I’m done. This has gone on long enough.” Who says that? When an ex said something similar to me six years ago, I was livid. My friends were furious. How dare he? Where is the compassion? He could have said a thousand different things, why this? So, yes, why this? Because I am a little freaked out by what my parents are planning. Because I really am done, tired, a little irritated. Because we were really stretching it, at this point we had nothing significant to say to each other. I don’t know, they sound like excuses. They probably are. Even today, my friends, even the ones who disapproved from the beginning, say, “But are you sure? You could have given it a shot. How do you know it’s not love?” I just do. It’s not love. It’s not compatibility. It won’t hold up for the rest of our lives. So then what’s the point? I’m a cynic, a pessimist through and through, but even I have to ask that question.