Eight years ago, in early October, I broke up with the guy I’d been seeing for a couple of years. My divorce had been finalized in July and I wanted my freedom.
I’m not a good breaker-upper. The truth is there was a perfectly legitimate reason to dump this dude: he had been lying all along about leaving his wife (as they do). But I didn’t want to have another one of those twisty conversations, so I’d been picking fights instead. My moods careened from anger back to passion to barely being able to tolerate him.
I should have ended things when they were still good, so my last memories of our times together could have been warm and joyful. But I never do that. I wait until everything is curdled and awful, then I light it on fire.
I don’t regret leaving him, but I always thought I’d find someone else. Maybe I still will… you never know… 🍂
Laura’s October Challenge (Day 3)
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