Ruing

I have been single all my life. For as long as I can remember, my forays into the world of romance have always ended in failure. From my earliest crush in pre-school, to the blind date I botched more than a year ago - I always ended up back in square one. In my twenty-five years of existence, I've never even experienced a summer fling or even a quiet walk on the beach with someone special.

The events of the past day brought to mind an episode in my early adulthood. Looking back, it was the closest I've ever been to having a relationship - in relative terms, that is.

I was barely out of my teens when I first met her. I must admit that I was a bit intimidated. She was tall, athletic and opinionated. We became friends, thanks to a common extra-curricular activity. But I never did make a move, thanks to my being inherently shy when it came to members of the opposite sex. I became content with keeping my fondness secret. Soon enough, it subsided.

A few years later, we grew close. I was more mature back then, more discerning. We shared a few common classes and often, we would go on leisurely walks in between classrooms. She was my constant break companion, eating lunch at our favorite food stall or studying (or pretending to) for hours at length at the library. I had an opening; I had a good chance to unveil my overture. And still, I did nothing. 

As the year drew to a close, someone else caught my fancy. I went on a bungled enterprise.

I've almost forgotten this particular episode, save for unexpected moments of nostalgia. With "what-if?" situations hounding my head, I rue my missed opportunity. A few years back, I wrote my first short story, "Beyond the Horizon," for the girl who shan't be named. Nothing really happened between us, aside from casual, nonchalant opportune moments. The short story (no matter how crappy), is my way of bringing some sense of closure.