Love is strange, isn’t it?

My relationship with “Mary” (not her real name, but I have to call her something) was strange to say the least because it was going so well for so long. Unlike the string of weird and disastrous relationships before, Mary was the first girlfriend I had where the possibility of a future with another person was becoming something tangible, something worth thinking about. We ate lunch and dinner together, walked to class together and spent weekends together hanging out with our friends. Mary and I were inseparable, and that was our problem.

I can’t say for sure where the time spent with Mary ceased to be something I looked forward to, but I know that by the end of school last year, I felt smothered. It seemed like I couldn’t get five minutes to myself without Mary calling to see if I wanted to do something. So I went on the defensive and hoarded my valuable time like it was gold, only telling her I couldn’t do anything because I had “other” things to do (which usually amounted to absolutely nothing, but hey, it was my time, right?).

Mary turned to our friends for support, believing I was too absorbed with myself to care about her or our failing relationship. We were talking too little and reacting too much, but isn’t that how it always goes?

It was around the beginning of May when Mary suggested we go on “a break.” Some of you are snickering to yourselves out there. Go ahead, because you know how completely ridiculous the concept really is. There’s a first time for everything, though, and I agreed to take that break because, well, I wanted time away from Mary. Time to myself. Time to see what, if anything, I had been missing for the last three years.

Space keeps me from giving you the scoop on what went down over the past eight months, but during that time, we nearly excommunicated each other, tried to kiss and make up and questioned if we were meant to be with other people. Wouldn’t break-ups be easier if we could just ditch the emotional baggage that comes with them? Perhaps, but this was the first time I ever bothered to pay attention to all those emotions. This was the first time they really mattered.

Turns out I was missing everything and nothing at the same time. It’s all very Zen. I realized that, although I enjoyed going out and doing things on my own, it would only get so good if I didn’t have someone to share those things with later.

I liked my time, but I also liked having someone to share that time with when I wanted. What was this? Wasn’t I all gung ho about having time to myself? Was I honestly … missing Mary? Yeah, I guess I was. Strange.

Things between Mary and I are looking up. We’re nervously considering having another go at the relationship, and I just might go for it. This girl’s really something, and I’d like to make it work & why then am I scared to do it? I mean seriously, what’s holding me back?

You know just as well as I do the risks that come with trying to start another relationship with “The Ex.” I still can’t shake the feeling that I’m setting myself up for a major fall here. If we could break up after three years, what’s to say we won’t break up again, and sooner than before? What if neither of us changed, and we’re only showing each other the sides of ourselves we want to be seen? What if I’m just over-analyzing this whole sad, sorry mess to death? Hmmm . . .

Relationships are a weird thing, aren’t they? They’re unpredictable, emotional and a roller coaster of melodrama. Half the time we think we have it all figured out, and half the time we wish we had a clue. We try so hard to make them work and are quick to drop them at the first sign of trouble. Love, though, I get. I think. I don’t think love cares how messed up relationships can become because it can cut through that crap to show us just much we care for another person.

Love is strange. Let’s keep it that way.