I am a man of principles, beliefs so strong they do not falter under any circumstances. The strongest of these is my belief that if you love someone, you should let her go. If she comes back to you, she is yours. If she does not, it was never meant to be. I abide by that one even when, like last summer in Yosemite, the only way to prevent my girlfriend from plummeting off a cliff face was to hold on.

“You cannot be serious,” Melinda said, when I told her my intentions. I looked down at her and replied, “Yes, honey. I’ve thought about it long and hard, and we’ve been together for, what, like six years now, and I want you to know my love is serious.” As I let her go, and saw her shocked expression, I thought, “Now that’s the face of a woman who truly knew she was loved.”

Because of my low self-esteem, I never expected her to come back to me, but she did, surrounded by strange medical personnel, and hidden from view. This must’ve meant she was mine! I rushed up to her, elated, turning over every sheet of plastic until I found the one covering her face.

Oh my God, she’s… mine?

The breakup got ugly, but not as much as she did. I don’t quite remember what I said, the usual nonsensical banter that everybody recites when they want to break things off. It’s not you, it’s me. My own personal problems have rendered me unable to love you anymore, but it did not prevent me from loving someone else behind your back on Tuesday nights. Things like that.

Since that weekend, I had another belief: I can love someone to pieces, but I cannot love someone in pieces. That remains true to this day.