It's okay to cry when you realise that a two-year emotional investment has come to an end.

It's okay to cry when it becomes clear that the commitment you were hoping for reciprocation on would never come. To love yet not be loved in return is worthy of tears.

It's okay to cry fondly over memories of good times shared, to cry bitterly at the memory of the point it all changed, and to cry with sorrow for what might have been had that day never come.

It's definitely okay to cry white-hot tears of anger at the other party's complete refusal to see how it all went wrong. When the straw-man accusations and the last-ditch attempts to instigate guilt come flying at you, there is no shame in crying then.

It's blissful to cry tears of relief at the realisation that you no longer have to bear anyone else's burdens but your own, to no longer have to play the faithful lapdog, the emotional trashcan.

It's perfectly acceptable to cry with fear at being alone again, at facing your multitude of problems without that same backup to rely on anymore.

But you know what else is okay? It's okay not to cry. As trying as the past three days have been, I haven't expressed my sadness in tears. That's not to say I won't in days to come, but an obstinate voice in my head is telling me not to waste saltwater on something that had been flawed for so long.

After all, he wasn't even my boyfriend. Still, it's over.