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January 2015

I tucked the letter and the photo between the pages of her book. Closing it, I tied the string around it tightly.

They would be kept in my memory along with the ones she inked on its pages.

They brought me to a lot of places. Their journey introduced me to amazing people and brought me to him.

And they taught me about life and the helpless, hopeful kind of love.


The love she had for him and the loss that came with it. I could still feel them lingering in one corner, a soft aching reminder of a timeless journey of people who felt so much and lost more; of hope and mishaps; of forgiveness and surrender.

The tears rolled down my face and I let them.

I cried like she did sixty years ago.

I cried for the man she never had, the dreams they never got to see realized.

I cried for the man I love but couldn't have, the journey he took with me and how it came to an end.

If only things turned out right for both of us, tears would not stain the pages of this book.

If only...

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