Yesterday I drove to his house to tell him that we could no longer continue our relationship. I noticed how beautiful the light was at this time of day; working as a photojournalist has trained my eye to appreciate such things. The light was gorgeous as he answered the door, knowing fully well what I was going to tell him as I trudged up the stairs and shut the door behind us. Like a scene from a movie, the last rays of sun were splashing through the blinds, illuminating the dust in his room, painting him a somber gold.

On the drive over I had decided that I was not to interject any sappy overdone lines, although their comforting existence was tempting. No, I would be honest and simply say what I felt to be the obvious truth. This relationship had run its course; it had come to a natural finish. There was no animosity, no real reason for absolutely wanting to call it quits. I just knew in my heart that it was time for us to be done. It had been a great two years. I told him I could not have asked for a better boyfriend, that he had done so much for me and I was eternally grateful. But, I added, I think we both feel like we've grown apart simply because our lives are headed in two different directions. And I cried. I attempted to hold those salty drops back but it was in vain. I was in his warm room with the blue comforter, the one I had spent many nights in, listening to him play the guitar, talking to him, clacking feverishly on his computer while he was in the shower. And now I was here to tell him that all those things were over. I felt like a sham. I wanted this but I also wanted to cry and curl inside his arms. This wasn't the first time we'd talked of ending it, but I knew I was now at the point of no return. This is what I want. I know this is truly what I want, regardless of how sore my soul is today. I want to be free. I want to come and go as I please, I want to be accountable to no one. I can no longer continue to jerk him around, to take the bits and pieces I want and leave the rest to fester in the sweltering afternoon. It's not fair to him and it's stifling to me.

I said my words. When I was done, he looked at me and told me that it was alright, that these things happen. Like I had dropped a dish or some other trivial mishap. I know he felt more than that but he always had a keen way of never letting on. I left shortly after. I tumbled down the stairs, tears flowing freely now, and felt my way to my car in the beautiful afternoon light. I rolled my windows down, gulped in a large breath and made my way home.

I slept well, better than I have slept in days. The impending breakup had robbed me of restful slumber. In times of trouble, sleep is a respite to me. All is forgotten, the bed is a womb. Waking up is the hard part. The split second of remembering again why it is you were sad is a knife through soft flesh.

The warm sun is here again and I am preparing for work. My morning has been plagued with heavy sighs and contemplation. In a bizarre way I am happy. But I also wonder if this is a mistake, I wonder if I let a beautiful thing go. But somehow, on some level of my inner workings, I know I made the right decision. I always assumed relationships ended when there was a definitive action which prefaced the split. Yet now I know that in life things come to an end without there being a clear reason as to why. Our lives change, our mindsets evolve, our goals fluctuate; we are not eligible for a one-size-fits-all relationship. I'll never forget him and I wish him all the best. Now I've got to get through this murky dreamlike phase. There's an unsettled knot in my stomach. I'm not hungry and I feel like I never will be. But this too shall pass.