“I can't handle this,” was the last thing he said to me before he walked through the
doorway, leaving me on the grass in the pouring rain, disappearing from my life forever.
I sat there, with a blank mind, simply trying to comprehend what had happened.
Where it had went wrong, where I had went wrong. I spent the whole night contemplating
that one line as it swam around my head. What I realized was that what he had been saying
wasn't that he couldn't handle us, whatever we were, but that he couldn't handle me. I
couldn't help but think, despite all of ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ crap that romance movies tell
you, perhaps all relationships were just simple cases of who gives up first. And as I fall
asleep, I keep trying to decide what option is worse: giving up on someone when you swore
to them you wouldn't, or waking up to realize they had already given up on you.
