We met on a Saturday in December. I think I want to marry you, I said to myself later that night, after hours spent side by side watching college football. Two weeks later we nervously sat on my couch, smitten. He liked me, a lot. The feelings were mutual; a first for me. But it wasn't long before he became distant. He still kissed me at midnight on New Year's Eve, an obligatory engagement we had previously agreed upon. Two days later we parted ways. I was a great girl but he wasn't available. I thanked him for his honesty. And I didn't care that I let him know it was him I wanted to date. Perhaps one day, he reassured me.
I was heart broken. Annoyed. But I understood. A few weeks later someone else unexpectedly swept me off my feet. I was skeptical but he said he wasn't going anywhere. He enjoyed me. He missed me when I wasn't there. I was whole, and so good enough. And then that one disappeared, too. I still don't know when or why or how. Another woman, I suspect.
This trend makes my heart hurt.
So I laughed as I read this excerpt from today's New York Times Modern Love column.
A love affair is not a short story. A story hinges upon a single moment that encapsulates the conflict- a continental divide on the other side of which the water flows off to a different ocean.
Read the complete essay here.