I Wasn’t Ready For You, So I Said Goodbye

Sometimes we regret things we’ve done in our youth.

It’s been fifty years now, but I still think about you from time to time. Your face appears, like a pastel mirage in the clouds, drawing me into my younger days when I knew so little of this world. You were funny, beautiful, and full of talent.

I wonder what you did after I said goodbye.

Did you find a worthy lover? Did you move to New York and become a graphic designer? Did you travel the world looking for adventure? Did you marry and raise children?

You brightened my life that summer when you wrote letters in your elegant handwriting — more than just ink on paper — exquisite works of art painting a story with swirling, flowing, fine lines.

I got to know you through those letters.

I couldn’t wait for one to arrive. After we met in art class that Spring, I had a lonely summer unloading trucks in the middle of the night. Nothing made me happier than to lie on my bed and read one of your letters over and over. I couldn’t wait to be with you — the days and weeks passed so slowly.

Then, you appeared in my parent's driveway in your yellow VW bug. We sat on the grass in the backyard for hours, the wind softly blowing through the tall oak trees on those warm August afternoons, talking, laughing, me falling in love with you.

Nothing else existed in those moments. We were free, innocent, and unencumbered by the complications of living that would inevitably come our way.

If only it had stayed that way.

We drove to school, me in my beat-up green VW bug, you in your shiny new one, and a few weeks later, we found ourselves in my fraternity house bedroom. We smoked some weed and drank some wine, and fumbled our way into making love and losing our virginity. We explored the new world of our bodies coming together in the darkness, listening to Cat Stevens and Jethro Tull, strawberry incense burning, wisps of smoke filling the small room.

We were both young, but I was less mature, unsure, and afraid of getting too close to someone. But I didn’t know that at the time. Your love for me was unlike anything I’d known — overpowering, bright as a sparkling sunbeam, illuminating hidden parts of me I didn’t know were there.

If love between two people is letting go and merging, I was lingering on the bank of a swift-flowing river you had long ago jumped in.

So, I gave you a confused, emotional farewell. You tearfully let me go, and I wandered into the empty night, soon to be looking for more love, ironically.

We didn’t see much of each other for the next two years, and then upon graduation, we went our separate ways.

But now, years later, you’ve returned through old photos— your hair blowing in the wind as we drove through the mountains listening to the Deja Vu album by CSN&Y, the sweet soft harmonies filling us with hope — sitting with our arms wrapped around each other on a lakeshore, our eyes full of light and life.

I can’t find you anywhere, but if I could, I’d whisper: I wish I’d stayed longer.

If you liked this article, you might also enjoy “Love Takes Time.”

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