Three years, four months. The last nine quiet.
You got the morning person. I got the records and the good pan.
- - -
You taught me how you like your coffee. I still make it that way. I will stop.
Not yet.
A breakup letter has one job: end clean. Not a verdict, not a eulogy, not a door held ajar. Write what was real, admit what you are each keeping, and exit without a speech.
Pick the "breakup" mode, put "someone you once meant it with" in the first field, and let the restraint do the rest.
Three years, four months. The last nine quiet.
You got the morning person. I got the records and the good pan.
- - -
You taught me how you like your coffee. I still make it that way. I will stop.
Not yet.