I met Amy five years ago, when I had just turned 15. She was 19 years old at the time, and, like me, was a member of an anime forum on the internet. At the time, I thought that was all she and I shared in common.

It was March 2004. I was a student with an online homeschooling program, and she was working part time, giving her planty of time to play around on the internet. I was coming to terms with various issues, including the fact that I was already questioning my sexuality, though intermittently. I never could have known what the next four years would bring us through. You see, at the time, I thought she was a bit arrogant, rude, and anti-social, and she thought she was a very confused boy.

She had a neutral username, so I had only her writing style to judge her by. At 15, I could already tell the difference between the writing and conversational styles of boys and girls. I came to the conclusion that this strange person was a girl, though an awkward one.

That was when I found out I was "wrong." For the next three years, I was constantly checking myself for the right pronouns when talking to her and about her. We became friends, not close ones, mind, but still friends. I never gave up the thought that she was awkward and arrogant, and I never got past the thought that this person was a girl.

I was 16 when I got my first crush on her. It was her sense of humour that did it for me. It was an odd sense of humour, and a little bit startling at times, but she was smart and funny, and I grew quite fond of her. Unfortunately, however, just when I got up the nerve to tell her my feelings, she started seeing one of our mutual friends, who was also a member of the anime forum we had met on. I shoved my feelings and, yes, my hurt and the slight nudge of betrayal that tried to creep up. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that just because I was a shy teenager, this older woman could take away my chance. It wasn't fair that my first "real" feelings of romantic love would have to end this way. It wasn't fair that Our mutual friend had said yes to the offer to become more than friends. Of course I felt that way. I shoved it down into the recesses of my heart, and forgot about it. They got engaged. I was happy for them, of course. How could I not be? But at the same time, I resented the two of them for their happiness.

So I did what any young girl would do. I confided in my best friend. "I think you're attracted to him because he's feminine." She told me. "You've never had any girl friends other than me, not really. You know you don't get along well in social situations and it's making you latch on to anyone you can. You can still have an emotional connection, but you have to realize that the two of you will never be together and move on. Maybe make some real girl friends, or find someone who isn't four years older than you to fall in love with."

I took her advice. It was true, I did fall for this mysterious person because of the femininity that radiated from the conversations we had, and I was determined that I'd make the situation right.

A short time later, I learned that they had broken up. But I was already moving on...wasn't I?

It was less than a year later that I found myself falling in love with the same person all over again. But it's not right, I told myself. This person is your friend's ex, and it's against the rules. She'll resent you for it, and so will other people. You can't tell anyone.

I had already started at a new school, a vocational school for high school students, and I was busy with my training as a nurse's aide. I couldn't be distracted with petty things like a crush on someone that was out of my reach. I was actually making other friends, and I was happy. I forced myself to forget about this little crush. I got through 11th grade with no problems. In 12th grade, I tried to have a relationship with a boy from my homeroom class. It didn't work out, to say the least. I was fully certain by now that I was not heterosexual, but I was bound and determined not to be a lesbian. My parents had told me since I was a child that same-sex relationships were wrong.

In January of that year, Amy came out. She was a woman. My own life went into a spin as soon as I read it. Was this the same person with whom I had discussed delicate religious issues with before? The same person whose intelligence had made me fall in love at least twice by now? What could have made this happen?

But then I remembered the four years I had spent, meticulously proof-reading anything I said, to make sure I used the "correct" pronouns.

I couldn't deny it. This was Amy, and she was a woman. I knew shortly after she came out to us that this was all right, and that really, there was nothing wrong with the situation, only with society's interpretation of the situation. I threw myself into research, and learned what I could. It was because of Amy that I was finally able to accept the fact that I was not straight, and never would be. I did my own soul-searching, and began to finally know myself.

It was the August after I graduated high school that she contacted me again. I was eager to get to know her as she was, and maybe I once again had a small crush, I can't be sure. Now not only did we have religious discussions, but Amy got to know me as more than just "the strange little Catholic girl." We had socio-political debates and intelligent conversations about everything. Even though she is four years older, I adopted her as "my fourth little sister."

And then I went to college. I had one last failed relationship with a guy, and Amy got me through the aftermath. I came to realize that I was more than just "not heterosexual" - I was not compatable with men in any way, shape, or form. I hesitate to say I am a lesbian. That would imply a sexual attraction to women, and I'm not entirely sure that's true.

November 1st, 2007 was the day that Amy and I became a couple. I finally felt fulfilled. I was happy, literally for the first time in years. Don't get me wrong, I had simple joys in the in-between times, but they weren't true happiness. I'd always had a need for love and companionship that was never fulfilled.

Amy and I are married now, but it hasn't been easy. We have fights and arguments and parents that don't approve. But we can get through it. After all, we have each other.

A bed of roses is bound to have thorns, but at least it has soft petals to cushion the unpleasant bits.