Over

It has only happened to me once: to have fallen in love, and had him fall in love back.  At the ripe old age of 26, after a couple of minor heart-breaks and a heck of lot of men wanting me for "only one thing" (too many of whom I indulged), I pounced on love and labelled it "forever", "marriage", "all my dreams to come true".

I planned to be taking a life-long lesson in love - to see how love evolved over the years.  Not a new love, then another, then another, as many a hopeless romantic has enjoyed; but to appreciate love as it matured.  So I am sad to report that after only one decade together, the love has ended.

There were compromises made.  After I promised myself "all or nothing", I was convinced by my love that such a notion was unrealistic; that I couldn't really expect him to love everything about me.  I thought I was being a grown-up, learning about "adult relationships"; but it turns out, I was in some ways giving up on my own ideals.  The other day I asked my husband if he was a romantic; he answered, simply, "no".  I should have asked him ten years ago.  I just assumed that he was, that he was capable of - and interested in - life-long worship.

But I suppose ultimately I believed... convinced myself... that this love was the love, because of the dreams.  No, I am still not in England (or even moved there, then returned... again) but we do have the babies.  I so desperately wanted babies, and was so frightened that it would never happen.  I simply couldn't risk missing out on them by testing and questioning my relationship.

Then, of course, my children changed me.  They changed my priorities, even my opinions - the very things that husband and I had in common.  They banished swathes of the old shyness, and brought forth this capable woman.  Capable even of raising these children on my own, if I must.

And I fear I must.  No, not really alone, of course - they have a loving father.  But I cannot parent with him.

We have exhausted each other with our mis-guided expectations, our mis-matched temperaments, and burnt out the love we once had.  And we never did have any spare kindling.

For a love without kindling it lasted a long time, through quite a lot of the shit that is life.  And, ultimately, it produced the two most incredible little people on the planet.

Thank you for loving me, David.  I am sorry that I cannot love you any longer.