He Told Me He Thought I Was “The One”

I told him I didn’t love him.

“I thought you were the one I would marry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he reluctantly handed me a bag of my belongings.

I glanced at him, unsure if I had the courage to meet his eyes.

For a split second, I considered taking it all back —I could tell him I changed my mind and wanted to continue our relationship. I could make the break-up — the pain, tears, and despair — disappear with a simple sentence.

“But I don’t love you …” I replied softly, as if the volume of my voice could temper the blow.

I took a breath, hesitating one final second. My moment of weakness was over. I knew what I had to do.

Mentally bracing myself, I drove the final nail into the coffin.

“… and I don’t see myself ever loving you.”

Turning away before the tears could spill over, I left without looking back.

“No one teaches you what to do When a good man hurts you And you know you hurt him too” - Taylor Swift, Happiness

Break-ups are never easy. Love is messy and confusing, complicated and unpredictable. But break-ups can be a whole other ballgame.

Feelings get hurt and tears are wasted. The blame game spills into overtime. Harsh words are thrown around painfully and carelessly.

We want to point fingers and play the victim. Rationally, we understand that it takes two to tango but our hearts beg to plead innocent.

With time, we hopefully gain the perspective we need to move. To see the fault in our ways as well as theirs.

Was I overly harsh in this break-up? Yes — I recognize it now and I knew it even then.

Did I need to be so harsh? Probably not. Like many hurtful things, I did it out of a twisted sense of self-preservation.

Part of me was tempted to give this relationship another try. There wasn’t a nasty fight that tore us apart. No one had done anything wrong — there was no cheating, backstabbing, or betrayal.

There was just … nothing, at least for me. It had always felt like a lukewarm relationship to me.

Even at the beginning, I didn’t feel fireworks or an instant connection.

We’d started off as friends. There were a few questionable outings where I wasn’t sure if I’d accidentally gone on a date. I kept insisting it was nothing more but my friends declared otherwise.

And they were right.

When he made his intentions clear, I turned him down. I told him I didn’t have feelings for him. It’s my go-to line and it usually works to disentangle me from these kinds of situations.

But he was persistent, pointing out that I had nothing to lose. After all, we were both single so why not just give it a chance? He reminded me that I was the one who believed in being friends first before dating. He pointed out that I liked him enough to hang out as friends. He was confident that it could be more.

Eventually, I relented and that was the start of our relationship. It was a slow simmer, built on the hope that it would blossom with time.

When he first told me he loved me a couple months into our relationship, I was flattered and surprised. I was equal parts thrilled with the attention and terrified because I knew without a doubt that I didn’t love him.

So I thanked him and cautiously told him that I liked him but wasn’t at “love” yet. I braced myself, knowing that wasn’t the response he wanted to hear but unable to bring myself to lie.

To his credit, he handled it better than I would have if our roles were reversed. He assured me that it was still early and that he wasn’t expecting anything in return; he just wanted to let me know because it felt right to him.

Risking it all in the name of love is reserved solely for romantic comedies. As much as I enjoy the dramatic displays of love played out on the big screen, it’s best to leave these notions in Hollywood.

I prefer real life with safety nets and back-up plans. Because I’m not quite sure I’m the lead actress in the narrative.

Likewise, lukewarm happiness is easier than casting caution into the wind — at least in the short term.

And he was alright with it, insisting that there was still time for me to love him. And if there’s one thing he did have, it was patience that one day, I’d tell him I loved him too.

It was this quiet, kind, steady patience that kept me in this relationship.

At what point in a relationship do you realize that the feelings aren’t going to grow any stronger?

How much time do you give it, in the hopes that the seeds you’ve sown will blossom into something? When do you cut your losses and realize that despite the amount of time and effort spent cultivating this garden, it’s never going to be more than a few straggly weeds?

I gave it a year.

A year of hesitating before introducing him as my boyfriend because something I couldn’t quite put my finger on didn’t sit right in my gut. A year of phone calls that I didn’t quite want to take because I rather paint my nails. A year of dodging around the fact that I didn’t love him.

In those final minutes of our relationship, I felt like I was standing on a knife’s edge.

I could step back into the lukewarm waters of our relationship like he wanted me to. Maybe he was right; maybe I was simply impatient or maybe I’d watched too many rom-coms. Maybe I shouldn’t expect fireworks from real life.

Or I could take a leap into the unknown, playing double-or-nothing with this relationship. I could wade back into the single pool and hope for better luck next time. Maybe I’d look back at this moment and realize that it was a huge mistake to end it. Or maybe I’d find those fireworks I was missing.

I’d fallen for his siren calls before. They pulled me into the depths of his kind patience, and I realized I was slowly drowning. Little by little and oh-so-slowly, my own light was no longer shining as brightly and vibrantly.

“I thought you were the one I would marry,” he whispered.

Why was he telling me now, in these final minutes of our relationship, how much I meant to him? Was this profession of love simply an earnest outpour of emotion? Or were they meant to entwine me in guilt, sinuously wrapping around my heart in a twisted substitute for love?

At that moment, I knew I had to take a leap of faith.

I wanted to block out the songs of the siren and knew that if I was harsh in ripping this final bandaid off, there’d be no further temptation. He wouldn’t beg me to give this relationship another shot. The dice would be cast and we’d be past the point of return.

“But I don’t love you and I don’t see myself ever loving you.”

With these words, I slammed the door shut on this chapter of my life and cast away its key.