Yet again he had asked me the question, the question that I had avoided for months now: “What do you love about me?” And yet again, I had no answer for him. No response for this question. We sat in silence while I racked my brain for an answer. Did I love that when he would disappear for days at a time I would worry myself to the point of puking? No. Did I love that he not only smoked pot, but also constantly lied to me about it? No. Did I love that he was failing every one of his classes and would more-than-likely not graduate next year? No, I did not love that either.
As I sat there tears began to well up in my eyes. It had dawned on me that everyone had been right; there isn’t a reason for me to be with him. Not anymore. I wasn’t attracted to him, I wasn’t proud of him, and I didn’t trust him. I no longer knew why I loved him. If somebody had asked me three months ago why I loved him, the answer would have been easy: He makes me happy. Now there is no answer. All we ever do is fight. We fight when he doesn’t call. We fight if I’m willing to drive thirty miles to see him, but he’d rather hang out with his next-door-neighbor. We fight when he hangs up. We fight when I don’t say, “I love you.” We even fight over why we fight. No, that does not make me happy, so I no longer had an answer to the question.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to elope on my eighteenth birthday, which was only ten days after his. We were supposed to have two kids, a boy and a girl. We were supposed to get rich together. We were supposed to grow old together. We were supposed to be together forever. Now I find myself in the arms of a new guy. Will we get married? I don’t know. Will we have kids? I don’t know. Will we be together forever? I don’t know the answer to that either, but what I do know is that I am happy.