I know none of you would expect this, but in college, I wasn't exactly the lady-killer I am now. I don't even know if this is possible, but I'm pretty sure I struck out more times than I went up to bat. So, aside from one deranged stalker who told a friend she was in love with me after I happened to remember her name (the only conversation we ever actually had), I pretty much rode the bench for most of my college career.
(I don't know where these sports metaphors are coming from. I promise I didn't have to Google them though.)
Then there was her. She was someone who, by the time she caught my eye, was already looking back. And like every great love story, I run and hid from this for as long as I could.
It wasn't that I didn't want her. It's that I thought I couldn't. You see, I've seen so many movies in my day, many of them romantic comedies, that I knew this wasn't how romance blossomed.
We had to be more at odds. We got along too well. We argued, sure, but I was always right, and that wasn't the way it was supposed to work. She was supposed to be right now and then. But that just wasn't happening, so neither were we.
We tried once or twice to make things work, but I always backed out before it got too deep. I had been alone for so long that I couldn't imagine having to see someone every day. I was, frankly, a coward.
And all along, she held out hope.
That's who she is, you see. She believes in people so much, that even if it's tearing her apart, she won't let go. And she didn't for two years.
Two years where more guys than I like to think about pursued her. Two years where I chased after girls that I knew had already decided I wasn't worth their time. Two years where, I imagine, she probably cried more than she'd ever admit to me or anyone else.
She should have given up hope. Anyone logical would have. But somehow, for some reason, she didn't. And for that, she had been right all along.
Happy birthday, love. If I know what love is, it is because of you.