30 years ago this very day, the young lady I adored above all others I have ever known made our breakup official. I have spoken of her in passing on occasion. The porn girl who most closely resembled her is Courtney Simpson, but she was pretty than Courtney. Her body was nothing like Courtney's, taller, 5'5', the frame thicker, slightly like Brynn Tyler, but with some excess.

I was pretty sure my banishment was coming since late March. She had grown distant and moody. In some ways it was I who made the decision for her.

But, that's another death threat from another guy for another day ...



Her birthday had come and gone without seeing me, which was profound and undeniable evidence of the impending coup de grâce.

I had prepared for a collection of 20 or so poems, for the end of her teens. The initial idea was that she could read them all but keep only 3. But, I had blown it and told her that in advance. So, I had been beaten down into allowing her to keep them all.

But, now, I was fairly sure the collection would be politely rejected and returned to me en masse.

After picking me up in her car, she soon found a familiar parking spot in a nearby park. I quickly discovered that my gift was not the focus of our meeting. She had made her decision and it wasn't to my liking. She was openly crying. I was doing my utmost not to, and though no tears left my eyes, it was clear they were moist.

She was taken aback by the fact that I did not say anything. After 12k posts, we all know that being quiet is not part of my being. She asked with sadness, frustration and some anger, "Do you have anything to say?"

I handed her the small looseleaf of poems.

Her mood brightened as she opened the volume. As she consumed the poems, I busied myself trying to memorize everything about her and played gently with her golden hair.

After she finished the poems [IIRC, there were 21, one for good luck, so to speak], she asked me if she could keep them as previously agreed upon. She kissed me gently when I nodded yes.

She tore out two pages [a poem she felt was so sexual to keep and the TOC that noted it's existence] and handed them to me.

I told her I had alot to think about and would prefer to walk. She rolled her eyes in that way she had when she thought I was being arrogant or disobedient [in her view, the latter was the former] and muttered, "Whatever" long before that was popular to say.

After she pulled away, the mysterious power that glued the tears to my eyes finally gave way.