It wasn't the longest relationship I have ever had. But it was the healthiest, the closest the the one I thought was it.
So what happened? Life happened. And though I can't stand the idea of telling the whole story now the main issue was how we found ourselves wanting completely different things. Not now, not even in a year or two, but at some point we wanted different thing. Different cities, countries. A family.
And believe me, I'm not wanting to start dropping babies any time soon but if I would I figured it would be with him.
And since the thought of children is enough to drive him in to the darkest pits of despair it wasn't likely to be a story with a happy ending. So we talked, and talked, cried and talked some more. And then I realized that the only way I wouldn't sink in to a cliché breakup-depression was by changing everything.
Jobs, cities, countries.
So I booked tickets to fly home and I handed in my notice.
Bye bye, couple-life, Scotland, job that I hated and hello Sweden, living with my parents and starting from scratch.
I'm fucking terrified.
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