(I’m tempted to post my prom picture for this post. But it might violate my date’s privacy, so I’ll refrain. /-ed)
How did we get to this place? The contrast in the picture is too crass. How does this unassuming boy, with an awkward head of dark curls, snatch the vivacious blonde waif?
“It’s Beverly Hills… must be the money.”
What if I told you it wasn’t? That the one with the looks was the one with the dough.
“Well, ain’t that sweet.”
But it wasn’t. Our love was many things. Our relationship was even more.
But I’m still - all these years later - wondering why.
Why the attraction, the investment, the effort?
Why fight so hard to maintain that which should have never existed?
“Oh, silly wanderer, still lost in your thoughts, what does it matter,
if you’ve learned, and have loved.”