This week is an ex’s birthday. Three months ago, we agreed to never speak again. We have made similar oaths in the past and broken them. This time feels slightly more permanent if only because we no longer live in the same city.

For the past seven days, I have brewed over breaking our silence to send a short, courteous “Happy birthday!” After all, while we swore it was over, we also assured ourselves that no one was mad, this was just healthiest. Insert eye roll emoji.

By these rules, I should not send a message on her birthday. Also, according to my pride and dignity, I should not reach out. Fittingly, my pride is one of my biggest prides—and arguably a large contributing factor to the demise of our relationship / friendship / whatever you want to call it, which fuels suspicion that I should.