By the time I grew into his love, he had run out of time and closed the door on our relationship. I don’t blame him. Timing is everything and my timing makes about as much sense as Roman numerals on a digital clock.

I thought good fortune was finally on my side when my friends delivered this short, dark, and handsome man to tall, blonde, and crying me. Opposites attract, and I would never have met anyone in that  self-imposed prison where I wallowed in grief. His tenderness, generosity, intelligence, dependability, and altruistic attempts to rescue me far exceeded the potential benefits a few inches in height might have carried.

Better still, he was romantic, and he danced. He was the greatest thing that could have happened to me – at another time.

Fate wasn’t as kind on his side of the introduction. He should have run. But, I can’t blame him; he couldn’t have noticed I didn’t exist at the time. My strong voice and warm body hid the fact that I had given my heart and soul to someone before him and had forgotten to take them back.

For each tear I cried, he delivered a smile, a hug, a flower from a neighbor’s yard, or a song. He filled my time, and eventually my emptiness with bigger pieces of himself. I fell in love, with all the heart I had available at the time. Unfortunately, the time and the heart were short.

In time, everything scrambled. He dried my tears and shed his own; filled my heart and discovered he had drained his in the process. He pulled away. I grabbed him back. He loved me. I pushed him away. I loved him, but he was gone.

I don’t blame him. Timing is everything. I might have been the best thing that could have happened to him – had he met me at another time.