I remember the night before I left. Joe had just gotten a snowmobile. He wanted to take me for a ride. I remember how odd it was to be let outside. I was already packed and had written him a letter explaining why I was leaving.
Over three years, I had attempted to leave Joe more than four dozen times. I did the phone break up, the “tell it to my face” break up, the “in the heat of the argument” break up, and the calm sensible “it"s not you it"s me” break up. Every break-up line that exists, I had used on him. If texting had existed, I would have tried that too. I hated the idea of a “Dear John” letter, but, given the circumstances, his temper, and my weakness for him, I decided cutting him off cold turkey was the only way to go. After I left there, I had decided to never speak to him agai
