I knew it was over with my almost-boyfriend, a tall, witty guy named Tyler* who I'd been dating for almost four months, when he suggested we make it official. I'd had a nagging sensation that things weren't right for weeks, but couldn't really pinpoint anything that was particularly wrong about him. I just felt off, like I'd still rather be single despite wanting the benefits of being in a relationship. (Ahem, see: a designated plus-one to events and groceries that don't go bad.)
A part of me was excited to jump back into single life and the freedom to do whatever I wanted, ready to embrace life as an individual. But even though I knew I needed a solo period of self-reflection, I couldn't shake the conflicting feeling that life would be way more fun with someone by my side. I was quick to romanticize mundane tasks like working out and making breakfast, ready for another partner in crime to ride it all out with.
Why, then, did I feel the need to push romance away whenever I had it, convinced that I didn't actually want it at all? I was torn, confused, and didn't know what to do… |
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