I practiced saying it in my head. Then I made myself whisper the words so I could hear them beginning to take shape in my mouth. Once I could confidently utter the sentence, I progressed to rehearsing aloud. Feeling them exit between my quivering lips at conversational volume:
Dan and I have broken up.
One gut-retching, emotionally-charged, life-altering declaration.
A great match for a while, we knew our relationship was a ticking time bomb, and we were destined for failure. Most of the time we could ignore the lingering dealbreaker hanging over us. On Sunday, Dan had reached a threshold where he can no longer deny his desire.
Kids. Parenthood. He desperately wants it. I vehemently do not.
Being with Dan for eight adventure-filled years was great, nearly effortless, and deeply comfortable. I am, and for a while, will miss him. In time I will be ok again, but I need to grieve. To grieve someone who is still alive.
Dan and I have broken up.
One gut-retching, emotionally-charged, life-altering declaration.
A great match for a while, we knew our relationship was a ticking time bomb, and we were destined for failure. Most of the time we could ignore the lingering dealbreaker hanging over us. On Sunday, Dan had reached a threshold where he can no longer deny his desire.
Kids. Parenthood. He desperately wants it. I vehemently do not.
Being with Dan for eight adventure-filled years was great, nearly effortless, and deeply comfortable. I am, and for a while, will miss him. In time I will be ok again, but I need to grieve. To grieve someone who is still alive.
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