It began as a glance.
Not across a crowded room at a party or anything quite so romantic or cliché, but you walked past on a jobsite.
Covered in paint, hair like a wild pony’s mane, coarse, knotted and bleached by the summer sun.
It’s been a long trip since that day, well over twenty-three years.
Since that first day I knew I would never be able to keep you.
No one ever will.
Even before I had you, I knew.
But I held on for as long as I could.
Longer than I should.
There is so much good to remember, sad that some is spoiled by the ending.
I will never know another woman like you.
But you will never be loved, like you were by me.
Good-bye.
