It wasn't very long. In the big scheme of things, it was a short period of time and a brief moment in the whole of things that is my past. But it lingers.

The two years we were together, we were often apart, and that time was spent with:

letters, phone calls (large percentage of time spent with awkward silences), cryptic notes, music borrowed, purchased and replayed for dramatic effect.

When we were together we were alternately-silly, sad, conflicted, hyperkinetic and passionate. We wouldn't even recognize ourselves afterward, except in the mirror.

Road trips- nonsensical conversations about children's books and the correct placement of napkin holders at a wedding reception we would/would not be having (we didn't have one).

Formal dinners with expensive food, new dresses and a sense of style and grace that made me dream of Sinatra and the Kennedy version of Camelot.
Can it be any better than this ?-I asked the waiter as she walked back in the room, burgundy gown catching the light-" Not for you", he said. He knew more than me.

We were perfect and flawed, intense and bored and too many paradoxes to suit me (her words). So after two years she said she was going and did.

I guess the memory stays with me not because of the length of time, but the intensity of the moments and how much adrenaline I expended, in such a short period of time.
Two years, 14, in dog years.

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