Psychology Today | 14.08.2026 02:06
It was a Monday in March, or that is how I remember it. I was 18, in a small mountain town, finishing a two-page letter to my first girlfriend about why I was ending it. Handwritten, because that is what you did. The reasons were ordinary, and I believe they were true. We wanted different things. We reacted badly to each other. Neither of us was going to give way.
