Three years later, we were on a plane to a new continent to start a new life. By then we shared a flat, a big, active social group, and were deeply embedded in each other’s family lives. I had felt unsure at various points in the relationship, but whenever the thought crossed my mind, we’d have a really nice day together. We never had that 'conversation chemistry' where you just want to talk all night, which for whatever reason was my idea of 'true love' at the time, but the relationship was loving and relaxing, and the attraction remained strong. I think I was always trying to get something more from him, and I sort of thought it might go wrong when we moved away, with no friends or family to fill in the gaps. Eighteen months later, after nearly five years, I behaved badly and ended the relationship in a drawn-out way that I regret because I couldn’t decide what I wanted.