I met her on a Friday the 13th, four years ago. She had her flaming red hair and her guitar. She stole my heart without even realising it, and I gathered my courage to talk to her four days later.
She always made me tell her the story of how we met, and it would always bring a smile to her face.
We are nine years apart in age, and most of the time we were separated by a distance of 10847.05 kilometers. I guess that was the dealbreaker.
The four years we were together were the best years of my life. I thank my lucky stars all the time for letting her come into my life. She was my soulmate and best friend, and she was the other half in a two-piece jigsaw box. We never fought, we gave each other space, and it was too good to be true. Turns out in the end it was too good to be true.
I was never popular with girls, either because of my shy character or my looks. She brought colour into my life. In return I gave her the best I could offer, and I dare say I have no regrets in the sense that I don’t feel I could have done any better to alter the outcome. Distance takes its toll, and nothing will ever change that.
I hope she finds what she seeks, and I hope I will be equally affectionate to the next girl I meet.
I once told her, when I was holding her hand, that I was making a reservation for her ring finger. I loved seeing the smile that followed. I guess that honour will go to someone else.
Friends keep telling me that she’s young, that’s why things happened the way they did. I always nod at their evaluation, but only because I don’t think explaining to them that she’s not like that will convince them to think otherwise. There are things that are special to only you and your partner that no one will ever understand, which is also why it’s always hard to go through a break up.
I loved her, and I still do, but I know when to let someone go, no matter how much you want to hold on to her.
I’ll conclude this with a line from a song I once wrote her.
“All the heartbreaks in the past were meant for us to meet at last.”