The day after my twenty-eighth birthday, I broke up with a lovely man, who still happens to be one of my best friends. The break up was sad, but relatively mutual. We loved each other and, in a sense, still love each other. What we were not, however, was suited to one-another.
I am a fantasy and science-fiction writer; he is a punk-rock musician. I am a hermit, an introvert, a lone wolf; he is a social butterfly in his scene. I value quiet time at home; he values time spent in the ‘jam shack’. There were other things too, but this is the crux of why we were not suited to being partners. For me to be happy, he had to sacrifice his happiness; and for him to be happy, I had to sacrifice my happiness. Even during the highs—and we had plenty of those—the relationship never felt right.
And yet we spent over a year in this relationship, over a year of trying to make it work. In the beginning, we fell hard and fast for one another. Actually, I think out of the people I have fallen in love with, never have I fallen quite as hard and fast as I did for this particular man. The speed at which I was pulled into the gravity of our connection was too fast. My judgment flew out the window. I did not take a moment to ask myself, Hey, Melody, are you sure this relationship is right for you?
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