I physically, literally, cannot break up with my boyfriend, written by Doll Collective.

On Sunday night, I ended things with Marcus.

I sat him down in our kitchen and managed not to cry as I explained that I couldn't

see a future between us, and he was fully moved out of our apartment by midnight.

I insisted that he didn't have to do that.

He could sleep on the couch while looking for a new place.

I didn't mind, but he assured me that he would be fine, that he could stay with a friend.

I even helped him get a couple of suitcases in his car.

A text did my mother and my close friends, to tell them that we'd broken up, and everyone

was incredibly supportive, proud of me, sorry that things didn't work out.

I fell asleep watching Netflix, slightly sad about the absence of Marcus and our bed,

but knowing I had done the right thing.

The next morning when I woke up, I heard movement in the kitchen.

I assumed that was Marcus coming back for something that he had forgotten, but when I opened

the bedroom door, I smelled breakfast cooking.

Oh God, I thought, does he want to try and change my mind?

Because I made my way to the table, I noticed Marcus had moved back in, somehow, without

me waking up.

His posters were back on our walls, his coats back on our coat rack, his shoes by our front

door, and as soon as I sat, he put a plate of pancakes in front of me, and kissed me on

the head, muttering.

Before I could open my mouth to protest, he put a bottle of syrup next to my plate of

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