Every naturally occurring element found on Earth has a half-life: the time taken for the radioactivity of a specific isotope to fall to half its original value. For Silver-110, it's 24.57 seconds. For Iodine-131, it's 8.07 days. For Uranium-238, it's 4.5 billion years.
If you think about it, almost everything has a half-life. Orange juice has a half-life of about five days before it goes bad. Clothes have a half-life of about two months before they go out of season. Cell phones have a half-life of about a year before they become outdated.
Humans also have half-lives: the amount of time that has gone by before half our lives have passed. For the reckless ones, it could be as short as 15 years. For the more careful ones, it can be as long as 50 years.
Love, however, does not have a half-life, the obvious reason being that it is simply too unpredictable. How could you possibly know when your relationship with someone is half over?
Nevertheless, there comes a point in time when most relationships start to become half of what they once were. The Friday night tradition of renting a poorly reviewed movie and eating sodium-filled moo shu pork on the itchy carpet floor will occur half as often. Time spent curled up in each other's arms on the lazy Sunday afternoon couch will but cut to half of what it used to be. Hot and heavy home-cooked meals will start to be prepared half-heartedly. "If it's so bland, why don't you cook your own dinner next time?"
Long gazes and playful glances will only result in half as many forehead kisses. Photo albums of recent trips to Cabo San Lucas and Reggio Calabria will be filled only halfway with photos of people who are only half smiling. Conversations that took place by the bay window—one cream, two-sugar coffee for him and black tea for her—will only have half as many words. The other half would have been exhausted on petty conflicts about whose turn it was to wash the dishes and spending money that isn't there.
Sometimes I wonder if there's a purpose for any of this. It just seems counter-intuitive. Why would anyone want to invest their mind, body, and soul into something that could be over in a couple of months or even a couple of weeks? Does the beginning bliss make the unraveling end worth it? Some say yes, but more say no. If that's the case, why do we keep going back for more?
It's because there comes a time when most relationships become half of what they once were: not all. There's always a chance. And what a dangerously enticing concept that is that the next person you accidentally spill coffee on, the next person your overly-involved friend or relative sets you up with, the next person your eyes fall on as you walk through the door on your first day of work could be the one you've been waiting to spend a lifetime with.
A person who never misses Friday night traditions, even after 27 years of being together. A person who treasures every pigs-in-a-blanket hug because each moment with you is priceless. A person for whom every home-cooked maple roasted chicken and honey-soy salmon is marinated in a cup of love and let to sit overnight. A person who would take every opportunity to kiss you on lips that match theirs like lost puzzle pieces from game night found under the carpet. A person who not only takes you on adventures but makes your life feel like one as well. Photo albums were meant to have bursting bellies filled with crinkled noses and crescent eyes. A person whose words fill you up with more warmth than any sipped, slightly chipped, mug and will continue to do so until there are no more unique phrases and combinations left.
Yeah. That sounds nice. It also sounds too good to be true. Almost. But that "almost" is what we hold on to. I don't know. It's hard to imagine finding something with someone that will last a lifetime when everything seems to have an expiration date. But then again, when all else decays, there's still Uranium-238. So, perhaps there is hope for a love like that after all.
