192 hours.

For the past 8 days, loving him has been like enduring open heart surgery without anesthesia. Metaphorically speaking, of course.  All of my theories and convictions about love are undergoing great scrutiny, and sometimes I can't tell my heart from my head. On a brighter note, they are finally starting to come to an agreement: Love is a gorgeous mess.

For the past 3 years (almost), I've been one of three corners in a technical love triangle of friendlationship. (Yes, friendlationship is friendship + relationship. Hear that, Webster?) Infidelity was avoided, but I still ended up being the victim of betrayal. Ultimately, my desire was to keep this out of the blogworld until time created a healthy amount of distance between the confession and the pain that ensued. However, my words provide me healing. Hopefully, it will give my readers the same benefit.

If you read between the lines of my love and I's story, then you will see annotations of another significant bond in his life. This bond, while purposeful in its valuing of genuine friendship, carried the weight of the "What If". Granted, it was incapable of stunting the progression of passion between my love and I. Nonetheless, the fantasy of potential was fed, subtly...until the moment it was strong enough to take on a life of its own. This significant moment fell parallel with the season we took a breather from The Title, mind you. I think the instant I knew that I loved someone who had questionable feelings for someone else, I realized that it would always be the three of us. The night I held his confession letter, I was escorted back to that night I saw him holding her from the reflection of my darkened computer screen. It felt like deja-vu, almost. Although I didn't understand why my heart felt heavy that night so long ago, the rush of past connecting with the present gave me clarity. And it only took me a second to track through every conversation, each moment I quieted the sickening feeling in my gut, and every instance I forced myself to trust him.

My love and I are well on our way to recovery and reconciliation. However, my interaction with the third corner is in a peculiar place. I know most would say that reaching out to her is unnecessary, but my heart beckoned me to. She is peculiar to me, because I'm told that she places only a feather's weight on what happened. Therefore, my attempts to reconcile seem to come off annoying and juvenile....and she is well within her rights to ignore me and my heart. Although it pains me, I will shake the metaphorical dust off of my feet and try to repair and rebuild. I am allergic to dysfunction, but I will not run from it. I'll choose, instead, to war with it.

My love is actively working to gain my trust back. As with the third corner, she sees no point in responding to my extension of forgiveness. No worries, though. I have her scent; matched with a keen sense of smell.

**Update (March 22, 2010): I've talked to the third corner and from our conversation, I've gained closure about her.