Forty years, thirty years, twenty, ten. Does it even matter? The days go on and and the years march by and the love I had for you never goes away. It just waxes and wanes like a star in the night sky. We’ve had different lovers through the years, never each other but always looking for someone like each other.

You were that girl who could always make me smile, no matter how corny your jokes were. And I was that boy who always intimidated you, for whatever reason I couldn’t fathom. We were never as close as best friends, yet never as cold as spurned lovers. We never hugged, never kissed, never had sex – but for some reason, it always felt like you and I had a bond that no distance could sever, no darkness could dim, and no person could ever take away.

But we did grow apart. We did go our own ways. You did lose faith in me, and I never did fight for you. Or attempt to take your hand. I’m sorry. I was young, foolish, immature, clueless, and stupidly, madly oblivious and every dumb thing you could think of. How could I have known that you were waiting for me to call back? To sweep you off your feet? To make you feel you were loved? To tell you that I am and were the boy that you thought you had? That you weren’t a second choice. That you were and always will be the only choice. And every choice thereafter was a mistake.

But I’m being hyperbolic. Not all of it was a mistake. Only the part where we diverged. Everything else seemed to have been destined. Like a haunting, heartbreaking melody playing after the credits roll in a movie. Our paths gave us our greatest joys. And I guess I should be contented with that.

Except I can’t. How could I after everything that’s happened?

You were and should have been my life. And I should have been yours. But for that one fateful day, fate threw a wrench in our way. And life was never the same. Not for one bit.