Today I broke up with my first boyfriend….yeah. For some reason my teenaged brain is telling me that this is a significant event in my life thus far. 

Where can I file that away in my memory? Right between first kiss and last week’s nightmarish pop quiz? I guess I’ll figure that out later.

He was my first real boyfriend. We kissed. According to television that’s a big deal. But it didn’t feel like a big deal. It felt awkward as hell because he’s a full foot taller than me (despite being eight months younger), and I can’t keep my eyes focused on one thing for more than a few seconds.

He was a nice guy, but we weren’t really all that close of friends to begin with, and I felt like we needed to develop more of  a friendship before a relationship could be a thing.

Also for a while there, I felt like he was only dating me as a statement. I mean I know he liked me, but he bragged an awful lot about dating the odd-one-out, y’know?

So I broke up with him for three reasons:

1. There was no spark, chemistry, or butterflies on my part.

2. We had nothing in common. A conversation would consist of me talking while he smiled and nodded every thirty seconds or so. We weren’t really that close of friends, so to just go out really didn’t make a lot sense to me.

3. I felt like if I stayed in the relationship I’d be leading him on.

Now heres what all of you are probably asking (who am I kidding by this point everyone’s like tl:dr): How did the breakup go?

Well. It went well.

We talked, I apologized profusely for my inability to to function like a normal teenager, he was sad, but understanding and it ended in the two of us hugging and going our separate ways. 

As it stands we are still friends. Which for now is what I’m content with.

It ended well. I’m okay, he’s okay, and I got out of this without one of those super dramatic life-scarring breakups I always see happening on facebook.