The moment to leave isn't when we're sad; it's when we identify that our lover is contributing sorrows above and beyond those that belong to love in general, when aspects of their character are embittering life far more than the normal rules of relationship mandate, and when we can see that the hurts we are facing don't belong anywhere even on the dark and long list of woes provided by the Romantic Realist. It is then that we should accept that we aren't simply being mature; we are unnecessarily ruining our lives.

Yet if, after an honest audit of our troubles, we come to suspect that our many griefs simply cannot be laid at the door of our partner but are the work of that less blameful entity, life itself, we should make our peace and stay put. We will know that we are encountering the misery of existence in the company of one particular person, but not - as it is so easy to presume - because of another person.

We will know we are sad not because love has gone wrong, but because it has gone exactly as it was always meant to go.

The Sorrows of Love