Zuckerfrei

I haven't found it.

It isn't about the ring anymore. It's about more than the ring.

I keep thinking, if only we had dealt with everything as they came along. If only. Then we wouldn't need to be here now, facing so many of them at the same time.

For someone who has spent so much of their life in relationships I'm spectacularly incapable of handling them. Our relationship has taught me a lot about myself, but despite realising that I need to grow up I still haven't quite gotten around to it.

You've heard everything. You know my faults. You know yours too, and you know they are much fewer in comparison.

We both need time. We loved each other too much, and as a result have done too many things against our better judgement. And now we've given each other a lot to learn from.

Like I said earlier, there are two options. One, we stay and figure everything out as a couple. Two, we move on, and someday become a great husband or wife to somebody else. I know that neither is easy, but both will eventually end in us being happy.

I can see it in two ways.

After being through so much together our relationship is strong. Even after the past few weeks we still managed to pull through, knowing that despite the stress and fights we didn't want this to end. A relationship as strong as ours can make it through anything.

But then again, it has been a long time. We've been struggling to set things right for so long that we're both tired, maybe too tired to keep going. Do we push ourselves a little further, or do we rest? Or give up?

In the end, it's a matter of whether the results will be worth the effort.

You said today in a fit of corny that our love will conquer everything. I believe it can. But will we let it?

The lessons I've learnt came at a price that could be higher than I can afford. When I was younger and my mum gave me advice that I didn't believe in, I'd always retort with "when I make that mistake I'll learn from it then". But that was silly. Some mistakes shouldn't be made in the first place.

I think about what will happen tomorrow, next week, next year. I imagine coming over to your house, sitting in the living room with your parents and talking about what we're going to do for our 21st; cooking together, then have them lie to us about how they never thought lobster would taste so good burnt to a crisp; snuggling under the blankets, then leaving before your parents go to bed.

I try to picture walking into an unfamiliar house to meet the parents of a boy with a blank face. To do everything I just mentioned with them instead. I wonder whether I'll still be thinking of you.

Do you remember the SMS I sent to you on the night of your birthday last year? Something about our silly little chat logs? "When I'm 90 years old and suffering from Alzheimers, I'll read them and know that you, Jez, have always been the one".

It was nearly a year ago, and at the time I was so stupid, so naive. And now, I'm a little less silly. A little more realistic. But I still believe that SMS every bit as much as I did back then.

I told you I had taken money out my savings. We could pick out a new ring together. You said it doesn't work that way. I know it doesn't. It wasn't marriage or engagement, but it was a committment. And no committment ring is ever going to replace my Elsa Peretti Bean. I know it won't be the same. I knew it before I spoke, but I hadn't thought of a new ring as marking a new beginning as much as I thought it would be a reminder of what our relationship had managed to pull through.

You said that for you, it all hangs on the ring.

I'm still looking. If I don't find it I'll walk away.

I'm sorry.