Okay, ladies and gents, here’s an icky-gooey heart to heart, and I admit it with no shame whatsoever. This is my blog, after all, and I can say what I will, but mostly I don’t will anything vile or hurtful, quite the contrary. I write what ails me and in what way the world has wronged me. This is one of those times. Strap on your sympathy caps and buckle up… this is going to be a sad ride.

The love of my life, the light of my love, the woman singular of her kind in her beauty and intelligence, in her literary taste and her sense of humor, is getting married next week. Not to me, of course. To someone else. Ergo the glumness, chum.

She…. how do I say this… she introduced me to things that I now revere and worship every day. She breathed life into me in that crucial moment of my life when I felt alone, asphyxiated, and her breath, her kiss of life, saved me from the clutches of whatever darkness was haunting me. She gave me a new darkness to battle the old one with, classic fire with fire stuff, and from that day to this one, I’ve never felt plagued by horror, rather, I have become its dealer, writing macabre stories which grip the readers in fits of fearfulness. Sometimes that’s because of the crappy editing and misplacement of semicolons and commas. I kid you not.

But she, oh how I wish I could say her name but saying it every time aches my heart, already so frail and nicotine-weakened, was my gateway drug, introducing me to the R.L Stine when I was seven, then introducing me to King when I was 14, and then she absconded from my life, all of a sudden.

Ah, that sad affair.

It was a foolishness on my part, now that I recall it. In the throes of a temporary psychosis that I suffered from five years ago, I sent her an ill-conceived message, which she comprehended rather hostilely, and told me to never speak to her again. She warned me that if, after this insulting message, I contacted her again, she’ll sic her parents on me. And I knew what her parents could do. They could make life shit for me.

I won’t go into details about the message, but know this that it wasn’t something as blatantly outrageous as she made it out to be, and even after I recovered from that twisted frame of mine that was brought on by severe depression and melancholy, she blamed me for being the same person that sent her the message.

But, out of pure love and nothing else, I did not speak to her again, following heartily that last command which she had given so lightly, not thinking of its repercussions, not thinking of the toll it will take on me.

So, I sought love again, with a heart half torn, half crippled, and found it in another woman. But that unrequited love, the first one for me, alas, I will never forget it. She’s getting married, and the nerve on her! She sent a wedding invitation to my home, addressed to me, cordially inviting me to the grand affair that it shall be, and asking me if I was going to bring a plus one! Woman, you were supposed to be my plus one, and now, I know that for the rest of my life, even if I find proper, accessible love, I will not know another woman like you.

But, as that ever-cliched saying goes, “If you love someone, set them free,” I have set you free. Bye bye birdie. May you fly high, may you fly where your heart wills. Mine’s all crumpled up like an author’s rejected draft.

I am sober now. As much as I have always been. Alcohol and other drugs are not easily accessible in this country where I live, and I have not gone to the trouble of accessing them with difficulty, but I know that were I living somewhere where they were accessible, I would have drunk my liver diseased and would have smoked my mind permanently addled. But thank God I haven’t.

I live another day, and every day I get further away from that heartbreaking time, and each moment that passes sobers me up more, makes me get over the grief slowly. But, fuck it, this news of her marriage, it’s opened all those semi-closed wounds again and has doused them in spirits and salt, searing them in fresh agony.

I know that I will never love again. At least not with that much fervor with which I did the first time.