We had left winter behind. It was spring of 2006.
We decided to meet at a café, and I invited Deina too. The plan was to tell my family I was just going to the seaside with Deina—simple, harmless.
Once we got to the seaside, we spotted a café across the street. You had to climb a few steps—maybe three or four meters up—and there it was. Trees surrounded it. Green and blue mixed in the air. The whole place overlooked the sea.
"Ahh... heaven," I said. I had never seen such a peaceful café before.
I never returned to that café after that day. I couldn't.
Our drinks arrived. Peace—this is what we deserved. All of us.
You couldn't get enough of the view. And truly, there's a big difference between seeing through your phone and seeing through your eyes.
We should have taken more pictures together. Sometimes, we would hug and take those classic couple photos. One time, just for fun, I put a toy cat on your head and snapped a picture. I still have it.
How foolish, right? After all those years, all those people… you're the only one whose photo I kept. Maybe I fooled everyone—including myself.
You, my half-finished love.
That day, at that café, Deina and Chris were both taking photos. They shared one thing in common: they both loved professional photography. While they were shooting, one photo was taken of just me—next to your bag, with my hand gently resting on my cheek.
That photo stayed online for a while. I even uploaded it to social media—with your bag in the frame. And you? You set it as your laptop wallpaper for a time.
My dear Chris.
Food, drinks, warm conversations, your hand in mine… But then, as always, the time came to say goodbye.
Is there no solution to this? We love each other, but neither of us is ready to talk about marriage. Still, I don't want to leave you. I want to be with you—always.
Later, I would learn—or guess—that you had a fear of marriage rooted in family trauma. At least, that's what I believed.
So once again, the bus stop goodbye. Then back home, back to the sadness that hit me once I walked through the door. My mother's questions, her looks…
There's always something missing in life, isn't there?
Perfection belongs to no one.
But at least today, today was beautiful—because it was with you.