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I don’t even like cats

Usually, following a break-up, I’m a mess.  This time is no different.  However, I’m not licking my wounds and drowning in Ben and Jerry’s Mint Cookie.  I’m sick with guilt over this: My ex is hurting, miserable and devastated.  I did it.  I used to think it was such a crock of shit when people would say they loved someone but weren’t in love with them.  I’m one of those people now.  I could have stayed with him.  Fast forward a couple years and we’d have been married.  I’d be miserable and he’d by miserable vicariously.  I wish we could fast forward to the part where he meets someone else, and she is as crazy about him as he is about her.  He’ll think of me, of our break up and finally understand why I had to do it.  It is because I care about him so much, because I love him so much that I want to see him happy, even if it isn’t with me.  He’s a beautiful person and it’s what he deserves. 

I could have done the selfish thing and stayed.  Maybe, I’d cheat or find myself wondering about a guy I’d pass on the street and locked eyes with.  I could have stayed just to avoid being lonely.. 

Is this maturity?  Did I let the best man I’ve known slip through my fingers because I’m looking for magic? Will I regret this?  These are the questions that plague me.  I can’t be ruled by my fear of being the cat lady or Aunt Gladys from Home for the Holidays.