Falling out of Love

   When one commits themselves to a serious relationship, there's generally only two ways things will end for them. They either break up, or they spend the rest of their life with that person. The latter requires far less passion than focused determination and coincidental compatibility.
    I recently ended one of the most serious relationships I've ever committed myself to (to date). It is by far the most difficult internal conflict I've ever had the chance to experience. How can I feel so certain of myself and my future when I have a crying woman proclaiming their dedication for the One who just denounced theirs.
    It wasn't just a diminishing passion though, it was me finally reasoning with myself that it wasn't healthy to begin with. Yet, I don't think I was ever unreasonable or harmful. She seemed to realize this too. In blunt terms, she knew I was good to her, but didn't know she wasn't good for me.
   How could I walk away relieved that I was over someone who'd dedicated, or was willing to dedicate, their entire life to try to please me?
    I reasoned with her that I didn't fall out of love because I got to know her better. It was because I got to know myself better, and that I ought be my one priority. I had, in a sense, idolized her. In doing so, I damned myself, because no woman has ever been able to fulfill a man the way a God or art or calling could.
    I couldn't get myself off the corner of her bed as she wept. How could you keep someone in that position from feeling insufficient in themselves. I practically told her, "no matter what you do, it won't be enough to keep me around. Oh but don't worry, I'm doing what's best for me. See ya!"
    I'm at odds with myself. I feel neither regret nor contentment. Neither shame nor pride.
    Certainty has never tasted so bitter.


Love is great. It just branches out.