began a few weeks ago. It is my plan to post a story, remembrance and/or poem once a week for 25 weeks leading to the big date.
So, there we were: Nineteen years old and head over heels in love, separated by 250 of the farthest miles in the world. We spoke fairly regularly by phone and we wrote letters nearly every day. Occasionally, we'd work out a trip to see one another and that's what we lived for - the few moments together, knowing the clock would swiftly tick away our time.
While apart, Donna buried herself in her college studies and I in my Christian rock band work.
What happened next?
Well, my take on the story is complicated. The way I think of it is that one day it hit me how very deeply and painfully in love I was with Donna. I wanted nothing more than to be with her every day forever. I longed to hold her hand, to walk with her, to talk and laugh with her, to take hikes, go on trips, go to the movies. Anything, as long as we were together.
And then it hit me like a chunk of gravel: What does one do when one is so deeply in love and so very longing to be with another? You get married, that's what.
And the thought terrified me.
"Married? I'm only 19! I can't get married!"
Panic set in. What if Donna wasn't the One? What about all the other girls out there I hadn't had a chance to meet?
"I'm too young to get married!"
And so, I broke up with my beloved Donna, the love of my life.
Undone by fear and doubt.
That's my take on the story.
Donna's take on the story is that I was just a jerk.
She is right, of course.
Having known Donna for less than a year, having fallen hard in love and enjoying a months long whirlwind romance, I broke the heart of my beloved.