There weren¡¯t any tears during my recent breakup. No possessions strewn across the lawn. No passive aggressive behavior. No yelling, fighting, or angry text messages. Rather, there was relief—an unexpected feeling of freedom.

The moment it all ended, I just stood there, an awkward silence between us. When I finally handed her the bag of clothes, I knew there was no turning back. But her features held no signs of sadness—more like gratitude. As I drove away, I didn¡¯t once look in the rearview.

Thankfully this estrangement wasn¡¯t with a person, but with a large chunk of my wardrobe. If I would¡¯ve anthropomorphized that bag of clothes before I handed it to the lady at Goodwill, I would¡¯ve told it, ¡°It¡¯s not you—it¡¯s not even me—it¡¯s us. We¡¯re no longer right for each other. I just don¡¯t love you anymore.¡±

I realized it was time for us to part ways last week, after I pulled on a tee shirt and immediately wanted to wear something else. It was a decent shirt, one I wore often in the past, but I didn¡¯t love wearing it anymore, and I hadn¡¯t loved wearing it in a while.

So I decided to go through my already minimal closet and jettison every item I didn¡¯t love. I¡¯d rather own just a few outfits—outfits I enjoy wearing, clothes I feel confident in, a wardrobe that brings me joy—than a mediocre collection of once-loved threads.

Sometimes love sunders, and we must move on. The things we once loved, we may not love forever.