We dated for two years. I was 18, he was 20 when we first met. He was my first boyfriend, and I was his first serious girlfriend.

He said "I love you" first, about a month into the relationship, but it became painfully obvious that I was the more attached one, that I was the one who was more in love with him than he ever would be with me. I was the one who remembered anniversaries, the one who arranged dates, the one who initiated physical affection, the one who reached out to him.

He claimed to have loved me at one point, and I did believe him; but it was obvious I was not the girl he would drop everything for, and go to the ends of the world for, and both he and I knew it.

Sick and tired of being treated as a last priority, I initiated the break up shortly after our two year anniversary. He was extremely relieved; he had emotionally checked himself out a year prior, and was waiting for me to cut ties. It hurt a lot, but I wasn't as sad as I thought I would be; I think I somehow sensed that the relationship had run its course, and was on its last legs.

We no longer speak to or see each other, but I have been told he has a new girlfriend, and that he now lives in Sydney. I wish him all the best.