I think love torn apart is one of life's greatest tragedies. That which causes such despair has no knowledge of financial or social persuasion, and does not show prejudice as it dispenses its wrath equally on the educated and the ignorant, the wealthy and the indigent, the skilled and the inept. Yet, while I consider the ill-effects of stunted love sympathetic, there is a spec of fairness found in its cruelty. Its opportunistic infliction of distress and heartache, while loathsome, does intrigue the side of me that respects equal justice. For while it devours the innocent young heart, there is no preference in its appetite. I would wager it has come for people of all walks of life, and seized from their devoted grip someone who was fiercely loved. Perhaps it cloaked itself in death and took from you a parent, a sibling, or a friend. Maybe life's circumstances was its disguise as it ushered away the only person who saw inside your soul and encouraged the very beating of your heart.
The melancholy of separated lovers can penetrate deep into one's willingness to submit again and hold in perpetual bondage the very essence of being human. As much as I 'd like to pretend I have been liberated from my heartache, the truth is I struggle with it still. On occasion I allow myself to visit the recesses of my memory, and I feel once again the embrace that reached into my body and seized the very breath from me. Every now and again, I see his face and remember the scent of him. I recall the warmth of his breath at the nape of my neck and the tenderness in his lips as he brushed them against my skin. I melt into the thought of his hands caressing me, awakening feelings that have since grown cold and dormant in his absence. I sway to the music of his voice as he whispers my name, and I am lost in the depth of his eyes that gazes upon my spirit. He is my only love, and I miss him.
It is this time of year that I am recaptured by our love, and this would not be a true confession if I did not acknowledge that my heart still yearns for him. Even truer still, it is my sincerest hope that he continues to long for me. I suppose my greatest desire is that our love has merely been interrupted by the responsibilities of life, and somehow time will weave us back together again. Until that day, I remain incomplete, but still in hope that I will recognize the shadow of a young man I once knew as intricately as the palm of my own hand. Should that day come and our affections still be strong, then our love will be a great triumph over the anguish that has held hostage so many. For in an instant I loved him and for a lifetime I have continued. Without hesitation or contemplation my heart was his. And separation by circumstance or death can not compromise the truth that it still is. So, I will continue to await his return and let the years wash over me like a flood as I cling to the foundation of our existence: that our love will be victorious!