The 2.5 years of relationship didn’t work out. As much as I would like to write about it here, I don’t think it’s something that I should share with everyone.
I’ll lift a paragraph from Eat, Pray, Love from Elizabeth Gilbert.
The many reasons I didn’t want to be this man’s wife anymore are too personal and too sad to share here. Much of it has to do with my problems, but a good portion of our troubles were related to his issues, as well. That’s only natural there are always two figures in a marriage, after all – two votes, two opinions, two conflicting sets of decisions, desires and limitations. But I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to discuss his issues in my book. Nor would I ask anyone to believe that I am capable of reporting an unbiased version of our story, and therefore the chronicle of our marriage’s failure will remain untold here. I also will not discuss here all the reasons why I did still want to be his wife, or all his wonderfulness, or why I loved him and why I had married him and why I was unable to imagine life without him. I won’t open any of that. Let it be sufficient to say that, on this night, he was still my lighthouse and my albatross in equal measure. The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving. I didn’t want to destroy anything or anybody. I just wanted to slip quietly out the back door, without causing any fuss or consequences, and then not stop running until I reached Greenland.
In the grand scheme of things, ‘we’ just didn’t work out. It hurts but ‘we’ will have to get over it.
I still do believe in love. In fact, the next time around, I’ll love and trust harder. Life goes on.