women aren't used to happy relationships.

i know i'm not.  i'm not used to the unabashed adoration, the early morning phone calls, the late night surprises, and the non-stop "i-love-you's".  i won't deny that i thrive on them, because i really do, but sometimes when they're there, you can't help but wonder, when is this all going to end? 

i've been than road before, falling in love and enjoying the highs of a grand love affair.  we used to SMS snippets of neruda to each other.  he left lovely cards on my office table filled with words that would be reason enough to swoon and float on cloud 9 all day long.  love was ideal, i loved him and he loved me.  we were our greatest allies for two years before it all came to a screeching halt, and a little more than a month before we were to celebrate our 3rd year together, he sent me an SMS saying that he wanted out.  forget the fact that at that time, i didn't even think we were together anymore, or that i've actually stopped thinking about him already.  it was the most painful moment of my life (or at least i thought it was then, but more tragic stuff have happened telling me that it was overly dramatic to believe our break-up was that tragic).

fast forward to pat the pilot.

he's beautiful, he's fun, and he's everything i've always hoped all the intervening boys and men i've dated in the past to be.  he's always ready with a kiss and a hug at the end of a very tiring week.  he's made the "house with a white picket fence and 2 1/2 kids" promise already.  i'm happy, he's happy.

but i'm paranoid.

and as a result, i end up screwing things.

funny how while i was typing up this post, he called, and was bothered about the lack of my usual morning text message.  he thought i was being cold, and when i explained to him that i was trying to not get used to our lovey-dovey coziness and what-not, he got pissed, and i got pissed, and we fought.

wait, no, it's not funny.  it's pathetic.