Something about today’s date felt oddly familiar to me this evening. It seemed as though it used to be important. Who did I associate it with?
And then it hit me. It was her birthday.
It’s really hard to explain my relationship with her. I’ve written about it before, so I’m not going to rehash it. But her birthday has me thinking about that again. And about other relationships. And about love itself.
Why are my memories of love so mixed? I’ve experienced some of my greatest joys in love, but my deepest agonies and hurts have also come from love and its aftermath. I need love, but the fear of being hurt again is so awful that it’s devastating.
The woman whose birthday is today is happily married and we haven’t spoken for a very long time. She eventually realized that I would never love her. She wasn’t willing to be my second choice. And she was wise enough to walk away instead of remaining my “back-up plan.”
Why is it that one person usually loves more than the other? And why do those relationships hurt the worst?

In bad times, human nature starts looking for some new scapegoats
I was a terrible preacher, because cookie-cutter truth seemed empty
Be afraid, friends: Chicken Little says the sky is falling somewhere
Law profs: the Constitution means whatever we say it means
Creative process can be very ugly, but I need to share mine with you
Dogs, cats and children remind me of all the joy in small things
My unconscious choices on love say much about women and me
Where are Obama’s tears when he’s the one killing innocent children?