In a moment of boredom today, I flipped through an old magazine from September 2008, re-reading a story that my colleagues were lamenting about. The word they'd used was 'cringe-worthy'. Only it wasn't. It was funny and sharp. Everything I read was refreshingly humorous. Even the captions I wrote. Somehow I'd stopped looking at our product in that way a long time ago. Looking at what I won't be doing in the future made me realise what I'm saying goodbye to. And for a brief moment panic rose within me and made me go 'What the fuck am I leaving for?' 

As a 20-year-old, I believed that the actions of today must align with the goals of tomorrow. It's all about economic justification. If a relationship isn't going to yield something, I'm not investing in it. The reason why I'm leaving, I tell myself, is because I have my eye on the prize. I believe that my actions today will lead me closer to the dreams I've set out to achieve in the shorter long-term. My next step is not an end in itself; it is but the means to a happy ending. 

And so these three years has come to an end. My mind is strewn with the artefacts of a relationship. I know that when J sings a line from a random song, he is inviting me to guess which one. Or that when he starts to jabber, he's experiencing a surge of adrenaline which he needs to vent by hitting something or someone. I know who he dislikes in the office, and the ridiculous reasons why. I know just what it means when he gives me a sly sidelong glance. I know that when my boss picks up her phone in her office five metres away, she's calling one of us to ask a question instead of walking to our desks. I know that C never washes her hands with soap after using the loo. I know many intimate details. With the team, nothing is an intimate detail.

Will miss them. That's all.