_“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!”_ I whispered sarcastically to myself as a grumpy, stout-looking man bumped into me, grinned, and went on with his day. I guess people did have it worse than I did. That little encounter jolted me awake, I was about to be devoured by my thoughts.

Every morning, a part of me was left in the previous day. The thought of my “fairytale love” faded, evidenced by the grey streaks in my hair. “I’m a good person, they all lost.” I would say anytime I saw a bride, wedding brochures, a couple in love…or my own reflection.

Growing up, I always pictured my _perfect man, _the sweetest love story that only ever blossomed. I wanted that, I _needed_ that. As a strong believer in good karma, I poured deeply into the universe by helping others love as I believed. “Therapist”, “Old soul”, “Young Grandmother”. All knew what I was,none knew my name, my story.

In return, the universe poured trauma back into me. _I_ had completely vanished. The dangling hopelessness of all I’d helped charged at me and scarred me till I was unrecognizable. I feared the love that I once craved. Walking around, the spirit of emptiness eluded me. I had nothing left to pour, no one tried to pour into me. _My_ scars now scared the people whom my heart once sheltered.

Still, I wondered who **_he _**was. I never found out.

And after fifty years, I closed my eyes, alone, still far away from him, my forever love.