Looking upon the only picture I know of that exists in which we were ever together (from our high school's 1986 yearbook), just the two of us, I feel hollow and in need of closure regarding how you would break my foolish young heart just seven months after it was taken.
But it was not meant to be as we never spoke again after that cool September Friday evening, when I thought I still had a chance to become your boyfriend after having lost fifty pounds over the previous intervening
summer. My feat did not seemingly impress you.
After I had graduated from the school in which you still faced two more years study, you moved on to the second long-term boyfriend you would ever have and it was not (and could never be) me.
Even now, as I cannot accept the reality of my life at age 44 in the calendar
year 2012, during the month (December) during which you were born on the
12th in 1969, married some other man on the 30th in 1994 and unexpectedly died from colliding with a truck (or so I heard) on a two-lane western Ohio road by the 9th of 2004.
I want to go back in time, become a different and better person able to express his feelings, able to become your friend and hopefully more and not be frozen in cowardice and fear with the Asperger’s Syndrome effectively silencing expressions of how I felt about you then.
I would have to be an entirely different person to have gotten your interest about becoming more than just mere friends. I would like to believe you and I might have been of the kind, existing in another reality I could have called you “beloved wife.”
But you’ve died some eight years ago, leaving me with only lingering jealousy toward your widower for having won your heart somehow when you were only 25, never considering his grief or that of your two children with him having lost their mother at rather young ages.
I still love and hate you on some level, Holly Lynn, and am only glad you are dead because I cannot sin in coveting another man’s living wife, even though I only learned about your subsequent life experiences (including college party whoring) after you had died.
Goodbye, Holly Lynn Taylor Detrick, my heartbreaker, and rest in peace.
But it was not meant to be as we never spoke again after that cool September Friday evening, when I thought I still had a chance to become your boyfriend after having lost fifty pounds over the previous intervening
summer. My feat did not seemingly impress you.
After I had graduated from the school in which you still faced two more years study, you moved on to the second long-term boyfriend you would ever have and it was not (and could never be) me.
Even now, as I cannot accept the reality of my life at age 44 in the calendar
year 2012, during the month (December) during which you were born on the
12th in 1969, married some other man on the 30th in 1994 and unexpectedly died from colliding with a truck (or so I heard) on a two-lane western Ohio road by the 9th of 2004.
I want to go back in time, become a different and better person able to express his feelings, able to become your friend and hopefully more and not be frozen in cowardice and fear with the Asperger’s Syndrome effectively silencing expressions of how I felt about you then.
I would have to be an entirely different person to have gotten your interest about becoming more than just mere friends. I would like to believe you and I might have been of the kind, existing in another reality I could have called you “beloved wife.”
But you’ve died some eight years ago, leaving me with only lingering jealousy toward your widower for having won your heart somehow when you were only 25, never considering his grief or that of your two children with him having lost their mother at rather young ages.
I still love and hate you on some level, Holly Lynn, and am only glad you are dead because I cannot sin in coveting another man’s living wife, even though I only learned about your subsequent life experiences (including college party whoring) after you had died.
Goodbye, Holly Lynn Taylor Detrick, my heartbreaker, and rest in peace.