The guilt trip worked every fucking time. Until it didn’t.
I don’t think I decided to break up with you (for real this time). I just remember thinking —
This is the last time I will be with you in this car.
This is the last time we kiss.
This is the last time I’ll be at this dumb bus stop.
This is it, and I’m savoring every moment of departure.
I will leave you alone in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do and no one to love.
Because if I don’t, it will kill me.