Unrequited

We lived in the basement at a mission in Baltimore.

We lived in a small apartment near the college where I taught in Ohio.

We practically shared her tiny dorm room.

We were together. Sometimes. Never. Always?

Never.

Touching her hand, I saw it, though. Saw it all.

That no matter where we were, we'd be together. We'd be in love.

Her face sunk when she found out I had a girlfriend. Perhaps I shouldn't have told her. Or maybe I should have been asking M out and leaving the other girl behind. So hard to just admit things aren’t working or that another decision is better for me. Not making a decision, though, is a decision.

She sent a concerned email when she learned I was engaged - concerned for me or for her or for us. Maybe just looking for an answer - what did she mean to me? What had the words we’d exchanged over emails in the library mean?

Things were good enough, but they were not ok. A wedding was planned, would happen. But M would not be my bride. Not then, not ever.

I'm not even sure I can write this. Or that I should.

I'd open an email from her, and all would melt away.

I'd see her and my heart would leap.

With the benefit of time, I can see events that would have happened.

I can see a future.

And I can see that after I let her go, my life took a path. One I desperately tried to escape. Those attempts at escape. They hurt the most. Leading me in unfamiliar directions -- away from the man who loved (still loves) her.

10 years ago, I had it all worked out. I'd move away. I'd start all over. Even go back to college.

I'd find a way to bring her along. Or, invite her out once I'd been established.

And wasn't that always the problem? Instead of taking the moment when it came, I had to create the circumstances to make it perfect...and then, the moment never came. There is no perfect moment. There is the moment we are in and nothing more. What did I do in that moment, the one where I saw the future?

Nothing.

I did nothing.

I mean, I said words and looked at her and told her all was well and did nothing.

One simple question could have (would have) changed our lives forever. She was waiting for me to ask. I was waiting for a more perfect moment.

Instead of asking her to marry me right then, the moment I knew, I waited. It wasn't right. It couldn't be right.

I didn’t have to ask her to marry me, of course. I could simply have asked her to join me for a drink. Just something, anything. Any reason for two people to spend time close to each other, getting lost in laughter and words and smiles and tears.

But. Nothing.

I've felt the intensity - the power of what I felt with M - only one other time. Of course, that woman is gone now, too. She left on her own, left me to find something better, a more perfect moment. At least now, though, I know. When you’re in the moment, you seize it. I got just a few moments with a force as powerful as the sun. Because this time, I asked. There are probably maybe one or two or three in the world for whom each of us has such a connection.

The lesson of M I’d forgotten now guides me. I”m no longer quite so guarded. I’m no longer afraid of the moment being just not exactly right.

I’m writing this because 20 years after M, she came along. A reminder of a moment. A reminder to seize the moment.

The life I might have had with M, those years, all gone. But there’s a me inside that’s better now. Better for the lesson learned, better for seizing the moment right in front of me some 20 years later.

I think she loved me. I feel like she did. Maybe that's what causes the pain. I can never know, now. I could ask her sister, but I don't want to bring up that topic. Though I want to hear those words: M loved you.

But that's selfish. And painful. And won't change the reality.

All I can do now is this: M, I love you.

Can she hear me? Does she know?