One day short


I knew from the moment I met L. that she was wrong for me. But I did the stupid thing — as I always do — and dated her.

And then I fell in love with her.

Tomorrow would be our 1-year anniversary.

Except, this story has no happy ending, just an ending.

For months, I didn’t give up on us. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to face the prospect of another failed relationship, of being no further along in building a marriage and a family knocking on 40 than I was knocking on 30.

L. has known that I am not the one for her. I thought we might have one last try in us, but no.

I am sad, but not as sad as if this happened out of nowhere. So today, by phone, we ended it.

To L.’s credit, she wants to remain friends. (They always want to remain friends. Sigh.) But I am not strong enough. I love her like I have never loved anyone else. I just can’t be around her and heal myself.

I am sad that my life has failed in the one thing that matters most to me: finding someone. Not just someone, but the right someone. To have come so close this time and have it end exactly as all the discarded relationships before … it can be too much.

I love my L. At some point, I won’t. And that is ultimately the saddest part of all.


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