Resolve is a funny thing. And by funny I mean it's a joke. Especially when it comes to ending relationships.

It starts out strong. The very word is synonymous with decidedness and determination. Yet no matter how firm it seems it can vanish in the blink of an eye.

The smile of a face, the ring of a phone, a tear, or simply the mind's simple tendency to focus on the good in a relationship, can cause a bad relationship to continue well beyond its useful lifespan.

I knew for a long time that we wouldn't last. For the better part of a year I fought within myself two conflicting urges. Two conflicting resolutions.

Would I honor my commitment to make it work, no matter how hard it seemed, and regardless of her own (lack of) effort?

Or would I take the easier way out and allow a relationship that was already dying to finally end?

Let's face it - there's a little martyr in all of us. Which is more noble, to quietly suffer mistreatment or to get the hell away from it? The latter may be the correct action but it doesn't always seem that way.

I quietly suffered for a long time. I decided to break it off more times than I can count. On those occasions when I actually tried to break it off, all it took was tear, or a promise, and my resolve would evaporate again.

To reuse a metaphor from a previous entry, would I stay on that ledge forever, or would I just fucking jump already?

Eventually I jumped. Or maybe I was pushed. Whatever actually happened I know for sure it was a snap decision and had nothing to do with resolve on anyone's part.