Paris, France 1997

I never meant for it to end this way. I loved him truly, and I’m sure he felt the same way, or he would have had I let him continue. It seems as though I let this romance die faster than I wished for it to bloom. Though I thought he could never feel the same as I did, in retrospect it seems I had been wrong. He was just about to tell me how he felt, but I walked away thinking I had no chance. What a death I died letting go of this romance, now I stand here alone in my empty flat, the melancholy sounds of the Grand Piano which he used to play on still fresh in my mind. Sipping the wine in which I had planned for us to enjoy later, I wondered; would he understand it was all a mistake? Would he give me another dance, a chance to fulfil these dreams. A chance to see that I really do love him and I didn’t mean anything I had said. Caught in between “I’m sorry I left you” and “I’m sorry I met you”