It started with harmless compliments, an occasional exchange of mutual admiration and like-mindedness.
And then it was suddenly something else, something new and exciting:
a crush.
I had long yearned for you – a soft, but passionate pining like that of a Jane Austen character.
You fascinated me.
The rush of mutual affection blinded me to all else in my life; you were all that I needed...
but I could not touch you.
The pain of being unable to hold you and comfort you in times of need was ineffable;
I imagined that I felt the same anguish as the great poets of the past.
Within a fortnight, we said "I love you," and meant it –
the love of a woman such as yourself was unlike anything I'd ever had –
and in those tender moments, I thought to myself that I wanted to call you "wife."
I dreamt of marrying you, a thought that kept me floating above the chaotic waters that were my life.
My thoughts were only of you, and how I would make our life together great:
our cozy home with four dogs and several plants; I'd come home to you wearing my clothes and kiss you softly; you tease me mercilessly, and I tease you back with a kiss and then bite your lip...
Alas, I settled for seeing you on a screen for the time being.
You were my secret, my little bit of sunshine in an otherwise foggy world, my muñequita (my little doll).
Though others criticized and raised their eyebrows, we continued in our rosy bliss –
a willing ignorance of negativity, because we would make it.
Yes, one day I would be your wife.
That is what I told myself, what I longed for more than anything.
"I love you," is how we ended each day as you struggled to stay awake through our late-night conversations.
Before you, I had never said "I love you" to a partner,
and I thought that made what we had special.
That is, until you disappeared without a word, never to be heard from again.
Funny how you, a ghost, broke my heart.
