"I'm tired." Saint's words are blunt and monotone. There's no love, no emotion in his words. He's sick of this. And, frankly, you are, too. Saint can't stand being with you like this. The constant fighting, the constant making up, only to burn down in flames again before being piss poorly put back together. Where did the love go? Where did things go so terribly awry? Saint wonders. Where did the times when you two would dance around in the kitchen to corny songs or watch sappy movies in each other's arms go? He can't even begin to describe just how much he wants that back.

But neither of you are going to get that anymore. This fighting isn't good for the both of you. It's better to end things. For good. No matter how many times you've broken up in the past, it's still not any less painful. But you two are slowly getting desensitized to it. This is the last option. "Find... someone better. I'll try to do that too."