It's been three years now. We've been through everything together - love, laughter, tears, hurt, pain, betrayal, forgiveness, anger, distance, sadness, devastation, joy, happiness and now ... we're waiting.

I ask myself, "Why are we waiting?" even though I know the answer. But fear stops being an excuse after so much has happened. I've tried to talk to you about this but you don't seem to be willing, or maybe able, to discuss it. I have moved beyond my fear to a place of acceptance and am ready to move on, but you are still holding onto the myth that somehow, by truly committing to me, you will lose something.

I have waited many lifetimes for you. We both know this, have discussed this, however vaguely. And what confirmed it for me was finding that letter.

I didn't go looking for it, truly, but that day, working at your computer, reaching down to pick up a dropped pencil and seeing it - sitting there, in the open for anyone to see, possibly deliberately for me to see, I must confess that I read it. I'm not saying that it was justified, even though it was addressed to me, or that what I did was right, but I did it, that can't be changed, and now I have knowledge about your feelings that I cannot pretend I don't know.

You spoke of love. You spoke of the dream that had haunted me for months -- of me waiting for you -- and in that letter you revealed that the same dream had haunted you for years. Why couldn't you just tell me that? Why did you write that in a letter that you never sent? You spoke of ending my waiting, of happiness, of a future, of marriage.

Again, why couldn't you talk to me about this? I know that we are now separated most of the year by thousands of miles, but all that could change if you would just tell me these things. If you would own them.

I have tried to broach the subject with you but you evade me, changing the topic or just not saying anything at all. Are you that scared? Do you care that little for me -- or too much? I don't understand.

Patience has never been a strong virtue of mine, which is ironic, as this is what I've had to practice constantly with you. When we first met, I thought that you were the one. Finally, I had found the man that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. There was a fire about you, an energy that inspired me, an intelligence that taught me, a creativity that shone like a beacon.

When that all began to fade, I thought it was just that I had taken off my rose-coloured glasses, but when your best friend who had known you for three years said that he had seen it too, then I knew -- something had changed. Something was killing that spark. Was it me?

When you betrayed me not long after, I thought I could never forgive you. My world fell apart. Your coldness and distance were like daggers to me. The committed relationship I thought we had was suddenly a sham. All because you gave into your fear and hid yourself in the excitement of carrying on with another woman. I swore I'd never speak to you again.

But after a few months, when we saw each other again that night at the theatre, we both knew that something was still there. As we renewed our relationship, slowly, hesitantly ... I thought it was love, but now, I'm not so sure.

You hold me in your arms, you caress me so tenderly, you make love to me breathtakingly and I feel cherished -- but there is still a part of you that remains locked, terrified, and I have become aware of it more and more over the last few months. And I can't take this existence any longer.

Recently, I met someone. He's in a very committed relationship and luckily, believes in loyalty and fidelity, as do I, so nothing will ever come of what I, at least, occassionally feel. But as a result of knowing him, of his character traits that fit so well with mine, of his true friendship to me, I am beginning to see that maybe you're not the one I thought, or maybe hoped, you were.

Yes, I have talked to him about you -- and through that discussion I have realized the one thing that is now missing from yours and my relationship: I no longer respect you.

Once you were so focused, so ambitious with your creativity, so honest, a friend as well as a lover and inspiring of my trust ... and now, well, now I just don't know. You drift, searching or not searching, unable to settle on anything, whereas I on the other hand am driven and dedicated to a dream and am making it a reality.

We are no longer equals. I've moved on and you've remained stuck, stagnant, unsure. You have a different goal every week -- at least that's how it seems to me, and while being a dreamer myself, I'm all for dreaming, I also firmly believe in having the faith in yourself to make those dreams happen. At least one. I don't care what it is as long as you are committed to it. You could be a beachcomber for all I care -- as long as you're doing what you love and staying true to it, to yourself.

And so I come back to the crux of the problem -- committment.

If you truly want me to stay ... if you really want me to share your life with you ... then tell me. Just tell me. Sit me down somewhere -- on one of our walks, in a pub, at home, wherever, and tell me.

Because I have reached the point where I am no longer sure how I feel. And I don't think I can wait for you much longer.

Still waiting, but not forever this time...,

Sallyanne