Today I made pancakes for my ex-girlfriend. They weren't great pancakes; they were hardly even good pancakes. But I tried. I regretted that I didn't have any real maple syrup for her, and instead defrosted her a bit of butter. She seemed pleased.

Last night she slept on the couch in my new apartment, having several months ago decided she was gay and practically breaking me in two on Valentine's Day. But we remained close. Very close. Maybe too close. I love her. Here, today, I still love her.

I feel as though our relationship -- and I've told her this -- hasn't changed since February, except that I don't tell her I love her, even though I do, and that we don't sleep together. Actually, we have slept together twice since then; both times we did nothing but sleep, and both times it was for warmth. In any case, she says things are different. For her, maybe.

I'm in a pathetic state: mostly unemployed, in debt, and lonely as hell. So how could I tell her no when she wanted to come hang out? It was a bizarre night and I promised to make her pancakes if she stayed over. She was convinced before I offered, of course, but that cemented the deal.

It reminded me of all the times last summer when she would make me french toast before I had to catch the 7am train into Boston to go to work. She was always thoughtful like that, and she certainly liked breakfast. And she always had real maple syrup. It's interesting what a difference that can make. Her frying pan had no handle.

And now, after nearly 4 years, it's over. Every day I try to accept that, but every time I see her I fall in love all over again, for all the same reasons as every other time. I wonder how she feels about me, but I'm too shy to ask. Or maybe I'm scared. Such is life. Maybe some time away will help.