I wondered if I should acknowledge today.
Why open old wounds? We’ve healed, haven’t we? I’d like to think so.
In case you don’t remember, today – December 17 – marks 23 years since our breakup.
December 14, 1993, I went into the operating room as Maria from The Sound of Music, and I came out as Cruella De Vil from 101 Dalmatians – despite the fact that I like puppies. Three days later I crushed your heart.
But, this isn’t a rehashing post. Or a cavalcade of quotes from The Notebook. When we reconnected on Messenger a few months ago, you mentioned something. I’m kicking myself that I didn’t dig, but I didn’t want to drudge up our past.
While I, too, remember the majority of our relationship, you stated you didn’t remember the letters. It’s a late, but here it is.
In your last letter you asked what you did wrong.
Long and the short of it – nothing. You did everything right. You were the perfect boyfriend. You treated me with respect. You were honest. Maybe a little too honest. You were loyal. Attentive. Supportive. Trustworthy. I felt safe with you from the start. In three short months, I fell harder than I’d ever fallen. When I said, “I love you,” I meant it. The fact I found you utterly adorable was a bonus. Marcus, think about it. You’d drive an hour and a half to visit me for one hour. You’d rushed out when I had a medical emergency. You sat in a freezing cold arena to watch me skate.
I’m sure someone’s reading this, shaking their heading and thinking “girl’s an idiot.” Somewhat altered, but indeed I was. But my idiocy is someone else’s gain.
Find your soulmate. Find someone to share those traits with. Make them as happy as you made me for those three months.
Maybe you already found her. Or maybe you’ll bump into her in some bizarre fashion on Thursday. Or Saturday. Or Monday. Each week is seven opportunities.
Regardless, Marcus, she’s out there.
And you need to find your Maria.
*Name changed for privacy