Stumbling over rock pools on a beach near my new house this week, I can’t help feeling slightly on edge as Boyfriend and I traverse large stones and I poke at limpets adhered to the floor and walls stubbornly and amazingly refusing to budge. Something about that immovable nature looks familiar to me, and I’m all too aware of something I promised myself I’d do at some point that day.

There’s something lingering in the air over Boyfriend and I recently. A few weeks of rapid changes have, of course, distracted me to the point where I don’t know what’s a real emotion and what’s the overwhelming pressure of an ever extending To-Do list. It doesn’t help that at the best of times I’m an emotional juggernaut. I’m all too aware from the distressed state of anyone who’s ever been in a relationship with me that I’m no easy ride. When I’m depressed, black clouds form, and when I fall in love, heads will roll. Either way, there’ll be fall out.

Boyfriend and I head out to explore the new town. It all feels exciting, but I know I’m going to have to shatter the atmosphere, and I can’t help feeling I’ll regret it.

“I wish you’d talk to me,” I blurt. “I’m worried. I’m actually worried about this relationship.”

He looks at me with an air of recognition. I feel like something’s going to come out into the open, but a minute of stunned silence passes, and I have no choice but to push it. “It feels different, right? I mean, you need to tell me what you’re thinking, I want to know what’s on your mind.”

"It should feel good, surely, making such positive moves to fix something we both care about, but I have a cold, dull ache inside, like I’ve broken something. And the very real possibility that it’s too late to fix is eerily present."

“Most of the time, though”, he begins, “it’s just stupid stuff. It’s stuff that I know shouldn’t be bothering me.”

“But it is, isn’t it? So it’s valid. If it’s bothering you then we need to discuss it no matter how stupid or irrelevant you think it is. I feel like I know nothing about you.”

He opens his mouth and, stuttering, I’m given a glimpse at what’s underneath this immovable shell-like exterior. I’m gobsmacked, I feel heartbroken that I could so carelessly hurt my own Boyfriend’s feelings without even realising it. A few more nudges prompts some more confessions, and I can’t help feeling like this emotional juggernaut of mine is well on the way to crushing him with every insensitive move I make.

“You need to tell me these things when they happen,” I offer. He says sorry. For what, I’m not sure. I tell him that if anyone should be apologising it’s me. The feeling is nothing if not slightly cool for the rest of the evening.

We wake up staring at each other, puzzled. I ask him if he’s ok. He nods. The shell’s closed again; I don’t feel like it’s the time to crow bar it open again, just yet. We agree to take a week off, see how we feel and attend to our own business properly. It should feel good, surely, making such positive moves to fix something we both care about, but I have a cold, dull ache inside, like I’ve broken something. And the very real possibility that it’s too late to fix is eerily present.   

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