Something I read while away on holiday I thought resonated:

Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have entwined together enough it's in conceivable they can ever part. Because that's what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not promulgation of promises of external passion, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining he's kissing your every cranny of your body. No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths, That is just being 'in love', which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when the being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from the branches we found that we were one tree and not two. But sometimes the petals have not entwined. Imagine giving up your life, your people only to discover in six months or a year that the tree has no roots and has fallen over. Imagine the desolation. Imagine the imprisonment."
From Captain Corelli's Mandolin.

Maybe this is what M felt about us two...?