I used to be in this relationship I wrote about quite a bit. When it all started, I didn't have a lot of expectations. By the time I realized I was crazy for the guy, which happened quite fast, expectations were everywhere. As naive and un-Amanda as it sounds, I actually thought that I might be with him for like, a really long time. (I don't want to type "forever," because I might hear the echoing snicker of the universe, and I'm trying to listen to Internet radio).

As much as this kind of love is old hat and a standard in annoying pop ballads, it felt so new. I consider it my first real adult love. I moved to New York City, where I knew no one, and found him six months later. Then I kept finding him for almost two years.

Months ago, I read this quote about how each heartbreak begins in one particular moment. In time, that tiny crack leads to complete damage. My hobbies include thrift store shopping, reading, and over-analysis, so you can bet I thought a really long time about that quote. Trying to pinpoint my own first fracture with my last love was impossible. All these little painful cracks came to mind, each with some before and after, like a brightly painted nesting doll of a break-up.

I'm in another relationship now, and if this poor boy stays with me for a few more months, he should win some sort of medal of honor. Or at least some coupons for a free haircut or something. TBID's got endurance, man. When we met, I set the record straight: "I dated someone for a really long time. It ended horribly. Most of my time here, I've been dating him. I saw a future where there wasn't one. I was deluded. My dog just died, too. I'm not ready to be anyone's girlfriend for a very long time. Maybe ever. Can we order fries?"

He called me later and invited me out a few times when I was spending Friday nights at home cleaning the toilet and watching Diane Lane movies...and loving it. I don't remember exactly when I started to like him. I think it was the second time we saw each other and he was driving us around Brooklyn, talking about the city. When he dropped me off, I said, "I'm sorry. I'm not going to kiss you." It was like I was in high school again. He laughed, but I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek -- giving him the new microwave in place of the trip for two to Cancun. He moved or something, and I got his ear instead and exclaimed, "Sorry!" His ear is still ringing.

Then one night we went out when it was still really cold. He was talking about Eastern philosophy and that's precisely what I was making fun of. We went to this place downtown that serves liquor and pancakes together. When we were walking back to the subway, he stopped and pulled me away from the streetlight and toward a silent church. We'd never even touched hands before. "Wha-," I started to ask. He put his hands on my shoulders and said, "Be quiet. I'm going to kiss you." I hadn't realized how much bigger he was than me or how safe, but unfamiliar, this all felt.

More recent nights, I've studied his face and wondered if he's felt it, that first wind that will eventually snuff out the flame. We both work long hours and have these independent pursuits that keep us apart most of the week. I don't even know all of the ways he moves yet. He's the only boy who ever picked me up off the street and spun me around. It's the sort of thing you roll your eyes at only if it's not happening to you, that cliche you almost never see.

I'm so attached to him, I could wince. Especially now. The weather is getting colder, and I feel very far from home. Sometimes I think he and I met at the wrong time, that neither of us can do everything we want and be together.

Imagine: Not being with someone I feel so right with due to scheduling complications, instead of major personality conflicts. I guess it's a problem I've needed to have for awhile.

But still a problem.