I'm single. 

This Tuesday would have been our second anniversary as a couple.  We moved in together almost a year ago.  And I've been miserable for the past eight months.  

You didn't seem surprised.  Your stoicism was both unnerving and soothing.  You said you saw it coming, and of course, how could I be so dense as to think my dissatisfaction was a surprise to you?  The last time we had sex was...at least two weeks ago.  At least. 

(And even as I think of how right it is that you can now have someone in your bed who craves you, and that I can have the solitude I've in turn been craving, all I want is to feel your bear hug as we spoon.  I love the hairs on your arms, and I love the tiny freckle just above the crease of your elbow.)   

"Why did you wait until now?" you asked.

Because I've been trying and trying and trying to make it work.  Because I loved you the whole time--still do--and didn't want it to end.  But I knew it had to.  And it is less cruel to tell you the horrible truth now than to let you wallow in false comfort for another year and then blame the end of us on a Fulbright or a job offer from overseas.  You are the type to grit your teeth and rip the band-aid off quickly and be done with it; I did my best to honor your philosophy.  We both wish there were more I could give you, but in the honesty department at least I can be satisfied.

But I did give a lot.  I gave and gave and gave and you wanted more but never gave back.  

The idea from The Book Thief.  A hungry person and a hungry person can't be true friends because they will eat each other up.  A hungry person and a full person can't be true friends because the hungry person will eat away at the full person until the full person, too, is hungry.  Only a full person and a full person can be friends, because then they both know the friendship is true.  I was full when we met, and you were hungry: almost done with law school with no job prospects in sight.  Father to a child whose mother was long gone and whose presence you resent.  Single for years with not too many friends due--let's be honest--mostly to said child.  Hungry for a life different from the one you had, despite the fact that the one you had was, if not perfect, at least good.  And I was...content.  Gainfully employed at a job I loved, accepted to grad school, awesome friends, fun hobbies, cute cat, wonderful family.  A life chugging happily along on exactly the right track.  

Look, I'm sorry I gave you hope.  I tried for so long because I didn't want to dash it.  I'm sorry I couldn't keep it up, and I'm sorry I let you down.  I'm sorry to have wasted almost two years of your life that you could have spent with someone who wanted a child, someone who had a heart more generous than mine.  I wished and struggled and prayed and begged for the ability to just do it, just stay in love with you and learn to love your son, but it never happened.  And I dragged it out longer than I should have, and oh god, I'm so sorry.

Thank you for being civil about it.  Thank you for your willingness to still be friends--which everyone says, but we truly mean.  At least I hope.  And if not, well, that's how it goes.  I'll understand if not, but I don't want to have to.   

Life lessons learnt so far: 1) Never date anyone with (a) kid(s), ever again.  EVER.   2) Only date someone who is fulfilled with his/her life as it is, girlfriend or no girlfriend.  3) Love does not conquer all.  Not even close.

Life floats by, and for this night only I am not going to join.  The fireworks are bursting and my drunk friends are texting.  Let them.  Life is long, and I still miss you so.