Opportunity Lost What I now accurately identify as lust was, at least back then, most certainly true love. This was when I didn’t understand that important distinction, nor did I understand the value of telling someone outright how you feel. It was 1998.

I made her a mixtape; the hopeless romantic’s primary tool of courtship. Each bit of each song was carefully chosen and crossfaded over another song so that there were no breaks in sentiment. It took me days to finish it. And then it sat in a desk drawer for months while I waited as patiently as I ever had for an opportunity.

Then it happened. Opportunity. After I’d been wanting her for so many years, she was finally available. There was a party at my best friend’s home, and she was there, as beautiful as I’d ever seen her. I went to talk to her, but lost that modest amount of courage I’d built. Instead, I went to my car and got the tape, thinking I could give it to her and immediately change everything. Well, I didn’t have the courage for that, either. I laid on the hood of my car staring up at the stars, wishing that the effect of the alcohol would either disappear or amplify; I didn’t care which.

She must have seen me out there because she came out to see if I was okay. And close behind her was some knucklehead that she met at the party who she was now hanging off of. Another enormous and dimwitted brute.

People develop a habit of looking for the same traits in people, and falling into comfort with that. But sometimes it's just too destructive to manage.  ¶ 12:06 PM