We’ve dated for three years and broke up six times. We fight, we make up, and then fight again. When we are together, it’s terrible. She gets on my nerves, and I also get on hers. Every little thing would turn into a fight, but there was one thing we both knew for sure, and that was we love each other.

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We would stay apart for days, and we’d begin to miss each other. She would either call, or I would call after a fight. We wouldn’t apologize to each other. We’d take it from where we fought as if nothing happened. The next moment, we would be together sharing the most intense kind of love.

When I say we broke up six times, I’m only counting the ones we broke up for more than four days. There were days we broke up for one day, and the next day we were together. When you see us fighting, you might think we were the worst of enemies—the kind of words we used against each other and the careless accusations. But after the storm is always the calm, and that is where we go through the dark parts our words created and look for each other.

At one point, we grew sensible and decided to sit down and have an intensive conversation. We searched for the triggers, the underlying reason we fought. We looked for the people who made us fight and the things that caused the fight and decided to do away with them.

A few weeks later, we had our biggest fight yet. It was about her mom and her demands. When I tried to address it, she brought my mom into the conversation and spoke of her in a demeaning way. I couldn’t take it. She couldn’t take my BS either, so the flicker turned into flames, and then it burned us.

“This is it. Go and come no more, you witch,” I exclaimed.
“I would be happier without you. Do you know the kind of men who are in my inbox? I swear those men don’t wear one boxer for three days like you do.”

This breakup lasted for so long I felt, indeed, that was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. One month later, I couldn’t stand the loneliness again, so I called her. We talked. We agreed to meet. We made love. But she said, “It doesn’t mean we are back together. No matter how long we keep lying to ourselves, this can’t work. Let’s keep it this way.”

So when I missed her, I went to her place. Yes, we didn’t knack every day, but it was fun being with her. We spent more time on the phone than we did when we were together. I was hoping we could do it one more time, only for me to visit her yesterday and see a guy there in his boxers. She winked at me and screamed, “Hi Martin, good you are here. Come meet my boyfriend.”

She introduced the guy to me as her boyfriend, and I acted along just fine, though there were thorns pricking my armpit. I came home, and I haven’t been the same since. I’ve cried. I can’t even eat. When we talked, she said, “We are not together again, so I’m looking out for myself.”

Wow! Magdalene, wow!

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I thought… I thought… anyway, I wish you well. Have fun, but in case it doesn’t end well—which I’m fervently praying for—I will be here, and this time, I’ll act right and make it work.

—Martin

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