When I was 18, I met T. He was wonderful, and ticked all the boxes. Smart, ambitious, handsome, and kind-hearted.
The more I found out, the better the proposition of T was. He was perfect for me. Within a week we were exclusive. Within a month we had professed our love for one another, and within six months, we were living together.
That's where this all started. I moved out of my parents' home to move in with T. The ball never dropped. I went from daughter, to girlfriend, and never stopped to be me in between.
Four years later, I'm waiting for T to come home, with dinner in the oven, knowing that I can't kiss him, because it only makes things harder; knowing that we'll be sleeping in the same bed together, because it's easier, and knowing that our perfect pathway to eternal happiness has been destroyed, and it's all my fault.
I broke up with T last week.
One trip overseas by myself, and I wasn't the same. I couldn't continue down that same path; the road to marriage, children and a quiet, comfortable life.
I remembered that I was my own person. I have dreams, ambitions, and hopes, and I was about to forget it all forever. I felt like the only way to get a life was to start over. Completely. One thing I do know about myself; when I make a decision, I can't put it off. So, I ended it. My perfect life was over.
And my adventure is about to begin.
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