Endings are never easy. It doesn't matter that it's your decision, or that your reasons are solid. Saying goodbye hurts.

But if you leave with your head held high, your sense of self strong, it hurts far less.

That's how I walked away from the African.

It's the first time in my life I acted on early warnings about a man, the first time I didn't push them aside and believe they would resolve themselves, that I could change him, and that he would eventually love me for it. In the past, I'd have hung on, become deeply, emotionally entangled and ended up heartbroken - my faith in men shattered yet again, my confidence in shreds, fear of risking another relationship binding me for months, perhaps years.

Aside from my ex-husband, it was the only time that I mattered more than him.

There was just one red flag with Roger. He was a Summit County guy. He could have been a Vail or an Aspen guy, almost any single man living in a resort community. They are a breed apart, with a strikingly similar mindset.

Each of them, even if not physically beautiful, is born with a magnetic personality. He is dedicated to a life of minimal responsibility, a trait that is enviable and admirable. In the same way the class troublemaker's recklessness and daring inspire an astounded tip of the hat, so does his seemingly untroubled decision to break with tradition. He lives for the moment, for the thrill of catching air on a black diamond run, the adrenalin rush of blasting down uncharted mountain terrain on a bike, for alcohol-induced highs and the touch of a woman. His happy, free spirit and dedication to all things pleasurable make him a powerfully seductive force. He is a heartbreak waiting to happen.

I saw all this from day one. I searched in his stories for evidence of a single serious relationship. With the exception of his daughter, I found none. But that was exceptional in itself. I saw the photos of a smiling, red-headed 5-year-old on his refrigerator. I heard the pride in his voice when he spoke of her. I heard him commit to never leaving her and Colorado.

That devotion gave me hope that he was different. Indeed, he was.

Never was there an unhappy moment with the African. His eyes sparkled each time he saw me. His voice on the phone was without fail enthusiastic, lifting at the sound of mine. I never so much as saw a frown cross his beautiful face.

I wonder, even as I write, why on earth I threw all that away.

Perhaps that initial, drunken kiss on the steps of the bar set the stage. That impulsive, reckless and delightful exchange spawned a relationship just as bold and unreflective. I firmly believe we should all get wild once in a while. But it's the rareness of it that makes it so fabulous and freeing an experience. In a disappointingly short period of time, it loses its shine.

Months later, my emotions had caught up with me. Roger was no longer just a handsome stranger. He was a man for whom I cared.

But time always was a fleeting element for Roger. He was heading out of town for the weekend, he had to be at work. He had, always, to be elsewhere, and soon, and I was never invited to accompany him. He asked to see me in those pockets of time between, and I allowed it.

He made it clear: I was not a priority.

Roger dressed it all in cheery tones, and genuine sincerity. He never lied or led me on. He thought things between us were perfect – just as they were. He had no plans to change his life, to introduce me to his friends or to meet mine, or even to take me to dinner.

I wanted to believe it could be that easy, to subscribe to a relationship that would always be light and spontaneous. What did the trimmings matter?

But it wasn't enough. Roger's fierce hugs and bright smiles were temporary things. He took up no more space in my life than two or three hours here and there. I realized, in the last few days, that the emptiness I felt when he left was not worth the brief pleasure of his company. My respect for both of us was waning. Worst of all, I'd become vulnerable.

Roger was a well-time blessing in my life. I needed him to cool my feelings for the other significant man in my life, for the huge boost in self confidence it gave me that such a charming, gorgeous man found me so desirable, for serving as a repeated bright spot in my often lonely first summer in this new city, and for the different kind of confidence it gave me to leave all that behind. I am grateful to him for it all.

I nipped the rest - damaged self esteem, frustration, anger and the pain peeking over the horizon - in the bud.

To the last, we never exchanged a harsh word.

He was baffled when I said I wouldn't be seeing him anymore.

“You’re thinking about this way too much,” he said. "What's wrong with this?"

I wanted to tell him he was not thinking about it enough, to ask him if he could find it in himself to give me more, how he could like me so much but keep me so hidden, why at 35 he was still living like a teenager. But I said nothing at all.

He smiled, kissed me and pulled me to his chest. "You're going to miss me. In a month, you're going to call.

"Stay the night," he said, and I told him I might.

I waited until I heard his breathing ease into sleep. I thought ahead to the morning and the goodbye that would come with it.

I moved silently away from him, walked to the door and opened it. Cold, high-mountain night air embraced me as I crossed the threshold. I did not look back.