While it lasted, ours was a love
that was pure, passionate, and all-consuming. When we were together, people –
strangers, even – would stop in their tracks to oooh and aahh over the dashing
figure we cut. We were wild, adventurous and globe-trotting, impetuously
meeting each other in Paris, Madrid,
London, Los Angeles,
and once, over the course of three months, Panama.
Nothing – not bad weather, not rough terrain, not exhaustion, not injury –
could stop us from giddily running around our hometown, excitedly looking for a
party, a happy hour, an outdoor festival, a gathering of any kind at which we
could revel in our happiness.
And then it happened. We started
to grow apart, the soundtrack to our slow, soft disenchantment provided by
Stevie Wonder and his melancholy rendition of “Lately.”