I looked across the table at her as she stirred her coffee. I was uncomfortable in my own skin; I tried to avoid direct eye contact. She smiled
sweetly and asked “What’s going on with you today? You don’t seem yourself.”
“We get together for coffee every Friday and you’re never like this.” I wish I had the courage to tell her. I wish that I was man enough to
tell her that I was completely in love with her, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was empty without her, my long life has been rendered
meaningless because it is her that I was meant to share it with.
The emotions were building in me, but I was aware enough to realize that this was a fight I wasn’t going to win.
“I used to be young…. I used to be young, like you. It’s true.” I said. This statement was in no way going to enable her to see who I
really am. It’s impossible for her to know who I am, what I’ve done in my life. She can only look at me as this broken down old man…. old,
“I was once young, thin… and I accomplished a lot of great things… and, and I’m-I haven’t always been…. like this. You and I aren’t so
different you know? But, I can certainly see how, umm it may be difficult for you to see.” I said, struggling to find the words that simply don’t
How can a man externalize just the proper combination of words in order for a beautiful young woman to see him for who he really is, not just who he
is on the outside?
I fell in love with her, regardless of the difference in our ages. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met, but it wasn’t meant to be.
“Aww, I know” she replied. “I know who you are, you’re very important to me.” She said.
At that moment, I realized that that this is where I give up. Because I could see that she didn’t understand. She didn’t have a clue about who I
am, and what I was about. She felt sorry
You know what, at that moment I felt sorry for me too.
Image- Dave McKean's 'Death'