It’s not you. It’s me.
I thought I would never have to write this letter, but I’ve changed. My needs are different, and although I thought I could deal with it, I can’t.
You were there when I needed you, but over the years, we’ve grown apart. You haven’t seemed as concerned about my needs as you were about yourself, and I admit that my mind has wandered.
Once, I had hoped that we could stay together, but in the past two weeks, it’s so clear we can’t make our relationship work. More and more, I found that I just can’t afford you, but I stayed with you, clinging to memories of happier times.
Yes, the credit card receipts in my pockets gave me away. In Nashville, my direct flight to Cleveland cost $140. If I stayed with you, you wanted $410. (And the Nashville flight even gets me peanuts and a soft drink.) I saved enough with my 210-mile drive to pay for my three days in a Cleveland hotel.
I’ve tried to overlook the fact that you take me for granted. I’ve watched my friends stray, and I told myself this was a one-time thing. Now, I’m not so sure.
At least we’ve got our memories — the first flight to Amsterdam and the first-class treatment to Tokyo, but they seem so long ago. It just isn’t enough for me any more.
I hope that we can stay friends.
PS: I feel cheap. And that’s the best part.