We were together, and then we were apart.

It was a breakup on gliders; slowly and smoothly, centimeter by centimeter, we became separated. Punctuated by mild angst (that was exacerbated by friends determined to “help” me “forget” him), our dissolution just…

happened.

It was the easiest and most final ending of any relationship of which I’ve been half. 

No wailing. No gnashing of teeth. Just a leaden sense of finality. We just… worked. So why couldn’t we work? I’ve rarely felt more comfortable, more complete, around another human being. And yet: it just wasn’t meant to be. 

I’m not posting this for sympathy. Or empathy. Or any other -thies. The breakup itself actually happened several months ago.

Surprised? I apologize. if you assumed we were still a thing, forgive me. It dissolved so effortlessly that I never felt a need to make urgent phone calls, much less send out mass texts or make generic online postings.

Until today, of course..

Do not mistake this for nostalgia, or bittersweet reminiscence. I just post this as encouragement for someone else. 

Just note this:

if any of you, all 3 of you who read this, must experience the ending of a meaningful relationship, I hope to hell it goes as smoothly as ours did. I – we – are living proof that it’s possible to become single without a single regret.

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