Even though, by 1992, Anthony and I had been ‘together’ so to speak, for several years, I had become disillusioned by his reluctance to get married, to commit, to have who I thought of as ‘the dreamchild’, to have each other as more than weekenders.
We fought, we argued, I cried, he shouted, I left and came back, he left and came back, I gave ultimatums, he reneged, I screamed, he shut down, I sobbed, he shut down. We were living 200 kms apart in totally different worlds; he was milking cows, I had begun my PhD.
There was still that solid kernel of our original friendship in my heart when I made the decision to hate Anthony. I gathered all the years of love and screwed them into a metaphorical ball of twisted twine and started going out and about.
During one of these going-out-on-the-town episodes, I met a guy who we will call Bill. I was with one of my best friends and she was flirting with him but I somehow caught his eye. He was on holiday from Melbourne and, drunkenly, asked me to join him there the following weekend, all expenses paid.
Of course I didn’t take this at all seriously but Bill somehow got my phone number and began bombarding me with messages of instant adoration. He even sent me plane tickets to Melbourne for a soon-to-be weekend. At 32, I was still ridiculously naive! But I liked Bill and I was flattered.
The night before I was going to Melbourne, the strangest thing happened: Anthony rang me. The reason this is strange is that he almost never rang me. Due to our recent argument, and my decision to hate him, the chances of him ringing me were slim.
He was making odd sounds which I soon recognized as crying: “Where are you going, Jules?”
I lied and said I was going up north to see my friend; I didn’t want to hurt Anthony’s feelings. To this day I will never know how Anthony knew I was absolutely giving up on him and actually going to Melbourne to be with another man.
His last words on the phone to me before I flew miserably to Melbourne were a combination of sentimental greeting cards and his own version of poetry:
“I will kill him.”
jmgoyder 
How dramatic your life has been.
So few relationships come within a million miles of the love you two eventually shared, and the price for that, was very high.
Gorgeous!
Sent from my iPad
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The road of love is a rough one with some deep potholes
Strong stuff.