K. and I broke up today. It doesn’t feel real, and I’m still so numb about it all, although I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. We’ve been on a break for a couple of days, and I’ve been thinking about breaking up too—not because of anything he did. No. He was always perfect. It’s because I’ve realized that I can’t make him happy simply by being me.

I feel like I can be myself around him, but it seems like he’s always holding his breath, describing our relationship as stepping into a minefield or walking on eggshells. It’s a familiar sentence—I’ve heard it before from someone else, too. It hurts because I don’t want to make anyone feel that way, least of all K.. I know I can be difficult at times, but who isn’t? None of us are perfect, and in our own little ways, we can all be hard to love. The real question is whether we’re willing to look past those difficulties and accept someone fully for who they are.

Whenever we faced issues, we’d take some time to think about them, talk them through, and find ways to fix them. Sometimes, we’d tackle things immediately; other times, it took longer. But we always seemed to pull through. I thought this would be the same. I thought we’d take a break, gather our thoughts, and come back to each other with clearer minds. I even looked at the weather for the weekend to plan our trip to Chef Hat to buy crockery. I wanted to tell him about my research on the Sun Princess. I thought we’d study together, move on, and keep going. But this time feels different, and I’m not sure why.

When he asked me if I was happy, I told him the truth: I was. Despite the bumps in our relationship, I’ve always recovered, put things behind me, and moved forward. I never held grudges because life is too short for that. But halfway through our conversation, I realized that no matter what I said, it wouldn’t change how he felt—about me, about us. So, instead of trying to say the right words, I stayed in the moment. I felt his presence, looked around the room, and thought of all the times we’d sat there together, playing games, hugging, just being. I feared it might be one of the last times we’d share that space, and that thought broke me.

There’s something else I need to say: I’ve had so much joy watching K. grow during our time together. When we first met, he was afraid of aging, afraid of what came with it. He was strict with his diet, always chasing a certain look. But over time, I saw those fears ease. It brings a smile to my face to see him embrace aging, to hear him acknowledge his limitations—it makes him feel more human to me. And I’ve loved watching him indulge in food without worrying about gaining weight because, no matter what he looked like, I loved him all the same.

I never told him this, but whenever I caught the time 11:11, I made a wish for us to stay together forever. Sometimes, I’d think about him at work, driving, or at home, wondering what he was up to. I wish I’d sent more texts to check in—he must have liked that. It’s something I regret not doing more often.

I realized during our talk that he’s been unhappy for a long time, and I care deeply about his happiness. I love him enough to let him go if that’s what he needs to find peace. But admitting that out loud was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

Letting go isn’t just about him, though. It’s about me, too. Clinging to the past feels easier than stepping into the unknown. But deep down, I believe we could find happiness together again. We’ve done it before. Why should this time be any different? And yet, I can’t ignore the weight of his unhappiness, or how long he’s been carrying it.

I want to respect his decision, even though I want to hold on. I want to handle this with grace and maturity, so I told him where I stand: I want to give us another chance. But I know he needs time to think, to decide for himself what he truly wants.

I don’t know what this means for us. I hope he comes back to me, but if he doesn’t, I’ll learn to accept it. There will be nights of crying, waves of anger, and moments of denial. But eventually, I’ll smile back on the great times we shared, and I’ll look forward with my chin held high.

We’ve been together for two years, and I know we’re still learning about each other. Relationships don’t have timelines; everyone grows at their own pace. Maybe he’s used to learning about his partner faster. I never thought about our pace at all. I believed we were building something solid, fixing and rebuilding the metaphorical house of our relationship as it changed and grew.

Now, I can only hope. And I wait, and I trust in the process.