Before Lynette and I were married – like most young lovers, I suppose – I was certifiably nuts about her. Though we first knew each other as kids and had hung out together through much of our junior and senior high years, we didn’t start dating until college.
In my college room I had pinned one of those dorm room bed sheets to the wall and covered it with Lynette-photos, ticket stubs, letters, and anything else that might remind me of her… a shrine really. I didn’t see her for the seven months while I was studying in the UK. Sometimes I’d go for a walk in one of the many beautiful parks or through a nearby wooded area and pretend I was with her. I’d dream we were talking, or dancing, or just sitting on a bench. I longed for the day I’d see her face again; I can still feel the ache in my heart.
These are the kinds of experience that drive young men to write poetry… or at least that’s what happened with me. Don’t worry, I won’t inflict any of my romantic ramblings on you.
I so longed to be with Lynette, to see her, hold her, hear her; just to “be,” and to be together. I returned to Canada an even poorer college student, and even more in love with her than before. For the record, she was not on the same page as me… at least not yet.
More tomorrow.
peace, dwight
I think you passed.