By: Melissa Ratliff
The tears started pooling in my eyes until they cascaded over my bottom eyelids and streaked down my face. Then the ugly crying began – where the salty water mixed with the snot dripping out of my nose; my breathing in painful spurts. You know what I mean.
But how did we get here? Things seemed OK. Not perfect, but what relationship ever is?
And the dreaded explanation? The oh so typical “it’s not you, it’s me.”
But I’ve heard these words before. Several times, in fact.
I am the common denominator.
That means it has to be me.