Twenty five years ago, he noticed her.  He wanted her to notice him, but wary of his own abilities to express his emotions, he looked to his friend.  He asked his friend to write a letter to her.  He even asked his friend to deliver it for him.  It was like one of those classic stories.  He even took the time to memorize the letter.  Of course, if you read something enough times, if you repeat something continuously, it’ll get engrained into your head.  But still, he remembered.  He remembered because he wanted to.  He never found his own words, but she loved him anyway.  He remembers, still.

Twenty five years ago, she was scared.  She didn’t know what love was, nor was she really looking for it.  Her family depended on her.  She had younger siblings that looked up to her.  She was so terrified, she wouldn’t even touch the letter.  It remained underneath the lamp for days, safely hidden, where she would sneak occasional glimpses.  The story was almost classic.  In the end, she read the letter.  He called for her, and she followed.

Eventually, they ran off together.  Perhaps even sailed away watching the glimmer of the sunset behind them.  They found themselves in a new world, in a new life…together.  To leave everything they’d ever known, their very own families, was bold.  To leave the comfort of home and knowledge of what the future would bring, in order to search for hope in something even better, was brave.  To leave together, putting complete trust in each other, was an act of love.

Twenty five years later, it all seemed to be a distant memory.  It became one of those would be nostalgic memories where the memory would still bring a smile, but the nostalgia met real life and faded.  Twenty five years ago.

Here’s to year 26.