I had been going back and forth for a good long while and it didn't matter how much love I had for him in my heart, I remained solidly... unhappy.
And every moment with me, I could see him trying. All the efforts to please me, the gestures he thought would put a smile on my face, earn him the recognition of "Doing the Right Thing" - there I remained, lips tight, body tense, powerless to tell him to stop, as I witnessed each and every attempt fall flat *splat* at my feet.

The feet he would caress every morning when he awoke before me. The rough and dry, sharpened skin of his hands, a contrast to the softness of his tender touches. A dew drop of a kiss on the tips of each toe.

I couldn't take it anymore. I loved him in the grown, adult, mature kind of way that women my age do. No pretense, no tomfoolery. Only truth and the matters at hand. I knew, without a doubt, I was the red flag. And he would continue to love me regardless in the same patient and kind way he had been loving me this whole time.

I had to let him go. And not because I wanted to. Not for a lack of love and desire. I had to let him go because I was yet still too unhealed to properly accept the unconditional goodness, faith, and affection that someone was giving me willingly without having to be begged. 

I was hurting him. The way I had been hurt so many times before. I was the villain this time. And I couldn't stand myself.

He listened quietly. He didn't argue. He didn't try to talk me out of it. He mostly maintained silence as I spoke and although I wanted him to disagree, to argue against me, to fight for the relationship, he did not. Because he knew I was right. We both knew I was right.

I am not meant for the beauty of his soul. I truly wish I was.